


Creosote

by Hirvitank



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, No beta we die like Neji, Post-War, mostly a fluff-piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirvitank/pseuds/Hirvitank
Summary: If, at the start of the evening, Sakura had been told she’d be dragging Gaara off to dance, she most likely would have laughed and rolled her eyes—the thought completely ridiculous in and of itself. Gaara was just Gaara; a man who neither blushed nor danced.
Relationships: Gaara/Haruno Sakura
Comments: 242
Kudos: 317





	1. A better present

Alone, Sakura watches the scene before her, the evening air pricking her skin. A departing sun sets the surrounding blossoms alight, offering the last of its warmth. It’s beautiful—perfect—but then again, everything about Naruto’s wedding has been flawless; from the cherry trees, to the spotless white of Hinata’s dress. She’d watched her friends say their vows with bated breath, heart in her throat. She couldn’t have been happier for them—so why, as the sun dips ever lower, does she still feel a dull ache? She downs another cup of sake, its sting a welcome relief. She really shouldn’t feel sorry for herself; it‘s neither a becoming trait, nor an appropriate attitude to bring to her best friends’ wedding. The magic she’d felt early in the evening has steadily worn away. Now, there‘s nothing magical about the way she’s attached to the buffet, building an impressive tower of cups as she washes away the bitter tang of loneliness.

Releasing a sigh, she starts into a walk, feeling a slight bout of dizziness. She isn’t drunk, but she can’t deny being dangerously close. The last thing she wants is to embarrass herself, so—doing what any sane medical ninja would do—she sends a surge of chakra through her system (meaning the ritual of forgetting can start anew). The garden is filled with dancing couples, and Sakura has no trouble spotting Ino where she sways with Sai. She knows she can’t blame her friend for ditching her—she’d do the same in her shoes. Besides, she has no desire to be a third-wheel either way. If anything, she‘s a little grateful; at least now she doesn’t feel like burden. Her friends hadn’t said anything of it, but they’d all shot her the same sympathetic look. She wraps her arms around herself, looking at the many groups bordering the area, wondering if anyone watches the dancers with equal longing.

“Sakura-chan!” 

She recognises Lee’s excited voice, realising she should be more careful with what she wishes for. He stands at one of the many tables, flanked by Kiba, Shino and the sand-siblings. Their conversation carries on, Kiba and Kankuro in the midst of some vulgar discussion—Sakura can’t say she’s surprised.

“Hi, Lee.” She slightly regrets her choice of sobering up, if only because she doesn’t think she can reject him—not after her own woeful musings.

“Come on, join us,” he beams, an intoxicated flush staining his cheeks, waving her over with contagious enthusiasm.

Biting her lip, she smiles, reproaching herself for her thoughts; at least Lee makes for better company than her tower of poor decisions. Walking up to them, she fills the remaining space between Gaara and Kiba, noticing how the latter is undeniably drunk off his ass.

“Oi, Sakura!” Kankuro drawls, the purple of his face-paint smudged near his mouth. “Just what we needed, a girl’s opinion!”

“You fool!” Lee knocks the puppet-master across the head. “You don’t ask a lady such things.”

Sakura blinks. “Wait,” she starts, glancing around the table, “what kind of things?”

Silence falls, all five men sending her unreadable looks—well, at least four of them. Gaara stares straight ahead, lips set in a straight line and... is he blushing?

Shino clears his throat. “Excuse us, Sakura-san, such talk would be inappropriate.”

She frowns, about to press the issue when Kiba bursts: “of course you’d say that!” Which launches yet another discussion.

At this point Sakura tunes them out, accepting another sake from a passing waiter. After all, there are more interesting subjects to occupy her mind; like when the Kazekage had started the habit of blushing? Though they’d met a long time ago, encountering each other throughout the years, Sakura realises she knows next to nothing about him. Gaara had always been... well, just Gaara. 

Sipping her cup, she turns to the man beside her, noting how he refrains from joining the ongoing conversation.

“You don’t drink?” she asks, tipping her head, eyes wandering his features. Up close, she’s surprised to see there are freckles dotting his skin.

His gaze meets hers, face set in an inscrutable expression. “No,” he replies, “I don’t.”

Sakura purses her lips, placing her elbows on the table. “Impressive; I wouldn’t last a day sober with your brother.”

If she wasn’t so close, she almost certainly would have missed the subtle hint of a smile. However slight, it‘s enough to make her want to see if she can elicited more.

“What’s that I hear!” Kankuro interrupts, face flushing as Kiba snickers. “I’ll have you know I’m a popular guy!”

Sakura smirks, batting her eyelashes at the puppet-master as she downs the rest of her drink, ready to retort when her neighbour beats her to it. 

“Puppets don’t count.”

She snorts, free hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

“Oi, Gaara,” Kankuro pleads, “is this still about the dancing?”

Sakura straightens, interest piqued, large eyes darting between the two brothers. 

“It‘s never too late to perform the Hidden Sand Samba!” Lee adds, pumping a fist in the air.

Once again, there’s a dusting of pink warming the Kazekage’s face, eyes directed elsewhere. “Don’t joke around like that,” he mumbles, a frown creasing his brow.

Sakura leans forward, attempting to recapture his gaze. “You were going to perform?” This only seems to add further fuel to the fire, revealing a broader spectrum of emotions on Gaara’s face than Sakura has ever been witness to.

“No, no,” he shakes his head, raising his hands, “I-“

“The Hidden Sand would have written wedding history!” Kankuro exclaims through a grin.

A giggle escapes Sakura, teeth worrying her lip as she watches the group continue their drunken rambles. She turns to a silent Gaara, still smiling. “I think I would have enjoyed that.”

He shakes his head, meeting her gaze in all earnestness. “I can’t dance.”

She waves him off, surely he’s just self-conscious. “Nonsense, everyone can dance.”

He briefly looks away, frown still in place. “I’ve never been taught.”

She pauses, staring into those milky eyes, slowly starting to realise he’s being completely serious. She can tell there are things left unspoken, words dancing in his gaze that never reach his tongue. She doesn’t know why, but she makes a split-second decision. “Lucky for you it’s never too late to start,” she grins, grasping his hand, catching his subtle flinch, noting how he doesn’t pull free.

If, at the start of the evening, Sakura had been told she’d be dragging Gaara off to dance, she most likely would have laughed and rolled her eyes—the thought completely ridiculous in and of itself. Gaara was just Gaara; a man who neither blushed nor danced. Yet here she is, grinning like a fool as she pulls him along, observing how he makes no move to stop her. The only protest comes from Lee, who calls after them, teary-eyed as he begs to be taken instead. She spins on her heel as they reach the many couples, an excited flutter in her stomach. It is when they stand facing each other that she notices they’re nearly the same height. She knows Gaara was a short kid, yet somehow he‘s managed to appear much taller than he is. It’s strangely endearing, and it lessens the figurative distance between the Kazekage and her. The sun has nearly set, painting the sky in hues of red, complimenting the blossoms surrounding them. She notes how, despite her own steady grip, he appears reluctant to return her hold.

“Now I don’t know any Hidden Sand Sambas,” she starts, taking his other hand as well, “but I do know a waltz, if that’s not too simple for your taste.”

He nods, eyeing their joined hands as she moves them, placing his palm against her hip. This time he does pull back, faster than she can react. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, catching her by surprise.

She tips her head, searching his gaze and returning her hands to her sides. “What for?”

He looks away, briefly, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “I hurt you.”

“Nonsense,” she laughs, “it doesn’t hurt when y-“

“At the Chuunin exams,” he interrupts. “I never apologised.”

She hesitates, surprised he’d mention it after so long. “You didn’t mean to.”

He shakes his head, and this time he doesn’t avert his eyes. “I did.”

Sakura quickly learns; Gaara is painfully honest. It would have been easier to pretend it was all the One-Tail’s doing, that he had no control over his murderous tendencies. But that would have been a partial lie, and she can at least respect his unflinching sense of responsibility. Perhaps, she wonders, he doesn’t drink for similar reasons.

“Thank you,” she says, “for your honesty.”

He nods, parting his lips to speak but pausing, his frown returning. Sakura had expected many things from the redhead before her—him being shy not included. “Why...” he hesitates, “why would you want to dance with me?”

She shrugs. “You looked miserable stuck between those drunken idiots.” His smile reaches his eyes now, and she finds she likes the way it looks. “Besides, I wasn’t having too much fun myself.” His honesty is contagious, and she feels a little lighter admitting her feelings.

It’s his turn to tip his head, studying her. Then, he offers his hands, his smile returning. This time it’s softer and gentler than she would have thought him capable of, and she doesn’t quite know what to think about the way her heart stutters. “I’m happy to help.”

She answers with a grin, accepting the offered limbs. His hands wrap around her, and she realises they are softer than her own, his skin free of the usual blemishes and callouses common to their lifestyle. An absolute defence, that’s what they’d called it. Gaara had never suffered an injury during his life... that was, until Sasuke. _Her_ Sasuke. She’s reminded of his note, safely tucked away like a precious gift—a better gift would have been his presence, at least now she dares be honest enough to admit that. She shakes those thoughts and the dull ache accompanying them, returning her gaze to the man waiting patiently before her. She meets his stare as she places a hand on his shoulder, stepping a little closer. 

She can feel the heat radiating off him, the distinct fragrance of greasewood enveloping her—she feels as if the desert itself embraces her, and it is an odd yet pleasant experience. Up close, she notices how he draws in a sharp breath as she touches him, almost as if it hurts to be so near. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it, and Sakura takes it as a sign to carry on. She explains the first few steps, gently guiding him through the movements. Gaara is an attentive student, carefully listening to all she has to say. She can’t remember the last time anyone regarded her with comparable interest, and it flatters her to be on the receiving end of such adherence. He follows her in all she does, not once showing any signs of annoyance or exasperation. It’s refreshing, and the longer she spends in his presence the less she thirsts for forgetting.

“You’re not too bad for a beginner,” she says, sucking in a breath as his smile broadens into something more excited, revealing a sliver of teeth. 

“I have a good teacher,” he rumbles through the beginnings of a grin, releasing her waist as she spins, leaving behind a chill where his hand used to be.

She ignores the fluttering in her stomach, telling herself it’s her own inability at dealing with appraisal, or maybe it’s the circling that leaves her dizzy—either way it has nothing to do with the brilliance of his eyes. She finishes her turn, arriving straight into his embrace. “Not that good, you just don’t know any better,” she jokes, blaming her lightheadedness on vertigo.

“Don’t do that.” He’s blunt in his delivery, and in his tone she hears the leader of a nation.

“Do what?” She attempts to catch her breath, starting to feel out of her depth. The music, the lighting and the setting exude intimacy, and she feels like a blustering stranger in the arms of a man she doesn’t know.

“Devalue yourself.” 

She swallows something, gaze not quite meeting his but instead trailing the dark markings, noticing the bruising beneath that has her wondering if he ever sleeps.

“You are one of the bravest shinobi I have ever met,” he then utters, bringing Sakura to a complete halt.

“Me?” She wonders if maybe she was wrong; surely he has to be lying.

He doesn’t release her as she holds her breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You faced a jinchuuriki head on to protect those you love.”

She releases a self-deprecating laugh. “I was naive thinking myself heroic, simple as that.”

He frowns, eyes darting between hers, as if he’s trying to figure out if she’s still joking or not. “You’re one of the greatest medics of our age, filling an invaluable role. Your profession embodies the very essence of heroism.”

She feels her eyes stray to the kanji decorating his skin, wondering what imbued this once ruthless man with such ethos.

“There is nothing commendable about taking life—but preserving it; there is little I admire more.”

There’s a pit in her stomach as she realises what she’s looking at. The skin is twisted and angry, cut with precision and permanently reddened. She meets his gaze again, registering the acquiescing look in his pale eyes. They remain silent for a while, the heavy throb of Sakura’s heart drowning out the surrounding clamour. There’s a sense of resignation in the way Gaara releases a slow breath, and she finds herself wishing for the confidence to ask why.

Then, his lips part, and she can tell whatever he’s about to say marks the end of their unlikely interaction. “You recognised a shared want and didn’t hesitate to reach out, something I myself am not brave enough to do.” He releases her and takes a step back, robbing her of his warmth. “Thank you for this dance. I’ll treasure it.”

“You’re welcome,” she manages to mumble in return, swallowing against the dryness of her throat, the beat of her woes. 

He stops a small distance away, sending her a look over his shoulder. “Oh,” he starts, gaze briefly averted, “happy birthday.” He smiles a final time, resuming his trek shortly after, filling her mind with infinite more questions.

Gaara is Gaara, she reminds herself, realising she has no idea what makes him so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONT WORRY IM STILL WORKING ON MY OTHER FIC WHOOPS!  
> This idea popped into my head, and honestly I couldn't resist--it's a guilty pleasure okay, purely self-indulgent! Been cursed with writer's block, so it's nice to get something out. I didn't know if I should post this as a oneshot or multichapter, but in the end a chaptered set-up felt better-suited. Most of it is written already, so I will try to update weekly.


	2. Less a stranger

Sakura spends the following weeks slaving away at the hospital, setting bones and mending wounds. She finds herself taking on extra shifts, if only to keep her mind occupied—keep her from facing the growing chasm inside her. Though she’s always loved her job, she’s felt an increasing surge of pride with every patient helped. It’s the Kazekage’s words that repeat themselves like a mantra, motivating her to push through her exhaustion; because at least her work means something to someone. Already she’s had to convince her friends not to worry—she’s fine, truly. It’s what she keeps telling herself, too. So what if she hasn’t had a home-made dinner in weeks? Opting for either take-out or a restaurant instead. It’s just that the silence in her apartment leaves too much room for thought.

It gets to the point where her parents grow increasingly overbearing. Sakura is used to her mother’s overprotective tendencies, but she’s never been badgered like this before. She manages to know exactly when Sakura gets home, the ringing of her phone timed with disturbing accuracy. She’s tried ignoring it, but guilt forces her to return every call. Three weeks are enough to break her, and she finally agrees to dinner—which she knows won’t be about eating as much as it’ll be about Sasuke. He’s the proverbial elephant in the room, despite not being in the room at all—that’s precisely where the problem lies. She’s not sure what she had expected from their relationship. Perhaps loneliness hadn’t been it.

Her mother picks her up after her shift, a bag intended for their groceries slung over her shoulder. She’d insisted they shop together, just like they’d done when Sakura was younger. Though she doesn’t think so at first, she has to admit she enjoys the time spent together. It’s a taste of normalcy, reminding her of how things used to be before Sasuke’s distance rubbed off on her. Sakura hadn’t intended to shut anyone out, but it had been easier than facing the truth—after all, she‘s perfectly aware what her parents think of her current ’relationship’.

They spend the afternoon strolling through Konoha’s busy market, starting up casual conversations with the many people they pass. As her mother selects the vegetables, Sakura thinks she spots a familiar shade of red. Her heart stutters, only to sink when she realises it’s not him. Her arms wrap around herself, mind attempting to make sense of her reaction. It‘s not as if Gaara and she are friends, far from it, so why does the prospect of seeing him again excite her so? He‘s barely more than a stranger, yet she finds herself wishing he wasn’t. Sakura has always enjoyed knowledge—learning, memorising. She reckons he might be just that: another mystery to study. If anything it‘s a far better answer than the alternative.

They head home shortly after, their shopping list completed. So far her mother hasn’t been too intrusive, sticking to pleasant topics that allow Sakura to breathe a little easier. They pass through one of the busier streets, sticking together as they navigate the crowd. Her mother continues to tell her about one of the trips she’s made to the Land of Bears, reminiscing about the many stars decorating its sky. Sakura hums along, attempting to picture the visions her mother describes. She turns her gaze to Konoha’s sky, only to freeze halfway through. Before her stands the subject of her thoughts, accompanied by a grouchy-looking Shikamaru.

“Gaara,” she blurts, tensing as she quickly moves to correct herself, “I mean, Kazekage-sama.”

He nods, gaze darting to her mother beside her. “Please,” he starts as his eyes return to her, “Gaara is fine.”

She takes a breath, holding it in her chest, realising this is it; what are the odds of bumping into him again? She wants to say something, anything, but as she stands there with her lungs full of air, she realises it’s as empty as her voice.

“Kazekage-sama,” her mom speaks, “it’s an honour to meet you—I’m Sakura’s mother, Haruno Mebuki.”

What could she possibly speak to him about that could warrant interrupting his schedule? Besides, they weren’t friends... would it be deemed inappropriate to ask about his business?

“The honour is all mine.” Gaara bows—actually bows—for her mother, as if he isn’t the most important man in Suna himself. “We are indebted to your family.”

Again with the praise—Sakura wonders if perhaps the Kazekage goes around praising everyone, if only to unsettle them. She breathes, squaring her shoulders as she swallows her nerves. “Will you be staying long?” she manages to ask, mentally scolding herself for her forwardness.

“A few days, I’ve just arrived.”

“You must be hungry after such a long journey,” her mother says, earning a wide-eyed look from Sakura—what does she think she’s doing?

Gaara watches the both of them, expression betraying little of his thoughts. “Yes,” he starts, only to pause, frowning as if trying to decipher a hidden meaning behind her mother’s question.

“Well Sakura and I will be preparing a special meal tonight, it’d be an honour if you’d decide to join us.”

No way! No way did her mother invite the Kazekage for dinner! Sakura thinks that, if she weren’t holding the groceries, she might have fallen over. There’s a heat creeping up the back of her neck, her eyes directed at anything but the man before her.

“I’d like that,” he replies, and when Sakura’s gaze returns, she’s surprised to see him smile.

* * *

The doorbell rings, and Sakura doesn’t think she could possibly shoot up any faster. She misses the edge of the table by a hair’s breadth, throwing her off balance and causing her to stumble. She curses, straightening herself as she smooths down her dress. She ignores her mother’s snickering, unwilling to give the woman more ammunition. Heading down the hall, she takes a deep breath, reminding herself there’s no reason to be nervous—this is just Gaara. She opens the door, aware how strange it is to be greeted by the sight of him. It’s the first time she sees him in civilian clothes, the seafoam colour of his shirt washing away the years, reminding her they’re the same age(she tries not to think too much of how it brings out his eyes).

“Hi,” she greets, noticing the small box in his hands, tied by a neat bow.

“Hey.” He raises the gift for her to take. “This is for you.”

She feels a genuine smile curling her lips. “Thank you, that’s very kind. Come in.” She takes a step back, allowing him space to enter. As he passes, there’s that same hint of desert rain in the air, soft and sweet. It reminds her of the medicinal herbs she loves to work with. “It’s the first door on the left.” Sakura’s happy he at least doesn’t have to see the pitiful mess that is her appartement, she doesn’t even remember the last time she watered her plants. They enter the living room, her parents adding the final touches to the dinner table.

“Welcome, Kazekage-sama,” her mother greets, “take any seat you like.”

“Gaara is fine.” His gaze travels the room, in wonder or dismay, Sakura doesn’t know. She has no idea what his own living situation is like, wether he’s used to a more luxurious setting or not—as the son of a Kage, she reckons he must be. Her father introduces himself, locking the redhead in a firm handshake. He leads Gaara to the table, taking the seat next to him. Sakura moves to the opposite side, the small gift still in her hands. When she looks up, she notices he watches her expectantly, large, green eyes glued to her face. She fumbles a little with the bow, a nervous flutter in her chest. When she lifts the lid, she finds eight mochis inside, decorated by tiny sugar-blossoms.

“These are my favourites,” she gasps, gaze shooting up to meet his. “How’d you know?”

Gaara smiles, and she finds her hands fumbling with the wrappings, if only to keep them occupied. “Shikamaru told me.”

Her father passes, carrying several glasses and placing them across the table. Sakura pays him no mind, unable to look away. “Thank you, Gaara. That’s really considerate of you.” She doesn’t know why she feels so nervous, why her heart stutters and palms sweat. This is the second time she’s actually talked to him, yet his presence leaves her more butterfingered than she’s used to. If she’s honest with herself, she can at least admit he’s a handsome man. Not in the traditional sense—not like Sasuke. Gaara’s appeal lies more in the deep red of his hair and the paleness of his eyes. There’s a boyish quality to the gentle slope of his nose and the roundness of his chin, his features reminding her nothing of the chiseled angles so distinctly Uchiha. She thinks she appreciates that about him.

“I’m happy you like it.”

Her parents join them, her mother pouring drinks as her father reveals the dishes.

“Well, if I’d known I would have gotten you something in return.”

“No need.” He shakes his head, gaze darting around the table. “This is more than enough.”

“It’s not often we have a guest,” her mother says as she takes a seat. “Even Sakura hasn’t visited in quite a while.”

“Mom...” Sakura eyes the woman.

“It’s true honey, you’ve been working so much, it’s a miracle you manage to eat at all.”

Sakura rubs her temple as she watches her dad fill his plate, steam rising from the elaborate dishes. “It’s just been hectic,” she mumbles, aware of the transparency of such a statement.

“So Gaara,” her mother turns to the redhead, “you’ve known each other for quite a while haven’t you? When was it you met?”

“At the Chuunin exams, mom.”

Gaara‘s gaze darts between the two of them, only half paying attention as her dad serves him. “I crushed her against a tree.”

Sakura chokes, coughing into a fist. She gulps down a glass of water, the sting of tears in her eyes. How could he say such things with a straight face?

“I‘d like to make up for that.”

“Hm,” her mother hums. “You can start by trying my soup.” Grinning, she pushes the dish towards him.

Her father waves them off. “We’ve all made mistakes, especially when it comes to women,” he chuckles, “fickle creatures, they are.”

“It wasn’t like that, dad,” Sakura quickly interrupts.

“Kizashi,” her mother scolds, slapping him across the wrist with a ladle.

Gaara sends Sakura a questioning look. “Like what?”

A nervous laugh escapes her, and she quickly pushes his bowl further towards him. “Don’t forget your soup, it’s a Haruno specialty.”

“Play your cards right and you’ll eat a lot more of those!” her father guffaws, earning another slap from her mother.

“Dad!” Sakura shrieks, joining in striking him. Her father continues cackling, obviously pleased. Sakura takes a deep breath, releasing it through her nose before turning to the man before her. She’s surprised to see him smiling as he eats, eyes shining with mirth.

“It’s a good soup,” he rumbles, meeting her gaze. Wait, was he teasing her now? It somehow lessens the tension, a relieved grin splitting her face.

“Don’t flatter her too much,” she warns, “before you know it, all of Konoha’s heard the Kazekage approved her cooking.”

Gaara shrugs. “Wouldn’t be too bad a rumour.”

“What brings you to Konoha? If that’s alright to ask,” Mebuki asks.

“It’s fine.” He stirs his soup, and Sakura finds herself watching the movement. “I’m not here on any official mission. I wanted some time away, and Naruto was gracious enough to help. He requested my presence, but truly, I’m not needed.”

Sakura frowns. “Aren’t you allowed to take time off?”

“Technically I am, but now wouldn’t be too conductive. The council doesn’t always agree with my choices—which is the polite way of saying I’ve pissed them off.”

“The good ‘ole generational rift,” her father chuckles.

“What’d you do?” Sakura presses, inching slightly closer, the vapour of her soup warming her skin.

Gaara hesitates, clearing his throat before continuing: “they’re very traditional. The title of Kazekage is a hereditary one, a custom they’re fond of.”

She has a sense he’s not too happy to talk about it, but she’s unable to ignore the implication of his words. “They want you to produce an heir.”

“Yes.” He looks away, focusing on his soup instead. “I proposed adoption.”

She notices her mother leaning in. “You’re not seeing anyone?” she asks, and Sakura highly suspects an ulterior motive.

There’s a hint of pink staining his cheeks, almost as inconspicuous as his freckles. “I’m not too good at talking to women.”

Her father releases a snort. “That’s easy; all you do is ask them what they like and they’ll do the talking for you.”

“Dad,” Sakura hisses, sending him a disapproving glare before turning to Gaara. “I don’t think you’re bad at it.”

He sends her an unreadable look. “You approached me.”

Did he mean to imply no one had before? It’s hard to believe—she distinctly remembers several women being happy to see him revived... could it be none of them possessed the courage? Her eyes stray to his kanji, its roughened edges hardly visible from across the table. “True, but...” she starts, unsure where she’s headed.

“I don’t desire to encumber anyone.” He shrugs, a gesture Sakura thinks too nonchalant to accompany such a statement. “There’s plenty of children without a parent. I’d like to be of meaning to them.”

It’s a noble cause, but part of her wonders if it isn’t a lonely one, too. Somewhere she feels she’s projecting too much, well-aware preserving the Uchiha line won’t change who Sasuke is. Being a single parent isn’t something she necessarily desires, but she’s not too dense to not think it likely. Still, Temari’s already chosen to settle in Konoha, meaning only Kankuro’s left. Who else does Gaara have in Suna? It’s something that dawns on her as she meets his gaze; either way, Gaara is an inherently lonely person. Like the protective layer of sand, there’s a perpetual barrier between him and others. Similar to Naruto, he alone can understand his experiences as a jinchuuriki. Though she cannot imagine what that must be like, she does think she’s starting to know him a little better.

She smiles. “I think that’s a beautiful cause. Those children are very lucky.”

This eases some of his disquietude, lifting the corners of his lips. The accomplishment evokes the same lightness she felt earlier, and it stays with her throughout dinner. Conversation flows more easily, the awkwardness she’s felt around him mediated by the knowledge that, in the end, they aren’t all that different. Despite his social imperfections, Sakura finds Gaara can actually be quite funny; his straightforwardness and deadpan delivery an at times priceless combination. He keeps up with her dad’s quips in a way that is surprisingly witty, and Sakura can see how he might piss off his council more often than not. It’s odd, but as the evening passes, she feels this stranger at her parents’ dinner table to be increasingly less that.

She tries, though ineffectively so, to ignore the small voice at the back of her mind, telling her right now is the most at home she’s felt in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this story is getting out of control... I’m already starting on the fifth chapter while this was originally supposed to be a oneshot. Thanks for the comments so far! They’re much appreciated.


	3. Something nearly beautiful

“Now remember, you heat it, but don’t bring it to boil.”

“Yes, thank you, mom.”

“And feel free to visit whenever you like. Bring Sakura if you can, it’d be nice to see her from time to time.”

“Mom...”

“Thank you for your generosity.” Gaara smiles politely, ignoring Sakura’s attempts at ending the conversation. “I’ll try, though I’ve heard things are hectic for her, so I can offer no guarantees.”

Sakura narrows her eyes at the redhead, his expression allowing no further insight. “Alright, it was a lame excuse,” she huffs, wanting to cross her arms but unable to due to her heavy bag—she‘s pretty sure she won’t have to worry about dinner for the entirety of next week. “Mom, I’ll call you tomorrow, happy?”

Her mom sends her a satisfied smile, tipping her head innocently. “Yes dear, I’d like that very much!”

Sakura sighs before smiling, rolling her shoulders as she adjusts the bag of food. “Alright,” she concedes, leaning in for a hug, “bye mom. Thank you for tonight, I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart. You take care of yourself now.”

“Of course.” She pulls back, returning to Gaara’s side.

“Thank you for walking her home, make sure she doesn’t get herself into any trouble.”

“Alright, bye mom!” Sakura calls, already turning away.

Gaara nods, offering a final wave as he moves to follow.

Her mother happily returns the gesture. “Bye bye! And remember, don’t be a stranger, you-“

“Just keep walking,” Sakura mutters so only he can hear, “she can keep this up for hours—trust me I’ve been there.”

Gaara nods, eyes darting between the both of them. She can sense his hesitance, and she doesn’t think much about tugging his arm, feeling him tense beneath her fingers. He doesn’t say anything, starting into a walk beside her. Touching others comes so naturally to her; it’s easy to forget Gaara might not be used to it. As they walk, she notices he keeps perfect distance, always adjusting when she steps closer. She can tell it’s habitual, rather than something he’s aware of. She wants to ask him about these patterns, wondering if perhaps it’s something common to Suna, but somehow the question feels misplaced. Instead, she decides to ask what’s been on her mind all evening—something she feels she‘s permitted as a medic.

“Gaara,” she starts, observing as the setting sun sets his hair aflame, the pale shade of his skin bathed in an amber glow, “do you have trouble sleeping?”

He meets her gaze, his own bag of leftovers swinging at his side, breaking the silence before he speaks: “I could ask you the same thing.”

She starts, scrambling for a way to deflect, her lips parting and closing several times.

“You have a lovely family, Sakura,” he continues, returning his gaze to the streets ahead, a subtle frown betrayed only by the creasing of his skin. “Avoiding them won’t make whatever’s troubling you easier.”

He’s right, but it’s not something she’s ready to hear. “Yes, they’re nice,” she concedes, straightening her shoulders, “but I’m an adult too; I don’t need their worrying.”

“They love you,” he counters. “It hurts them to see you in pain.”

She stops, trying to breathe. “I’m not in pain.”

He halts too, turning to look at her with those piercing eyes. “Yes you are.” She’s about to shake her head when his free hand reaches out, the tips of his fingers brushing the skin above her heart. “Right here.”

It races in response, and she’s afraid the violence of it might startle him. Her gaze darts towards his scar, its angry, red lines like trails of blood in the dying sunlight. “I’m fine.” She lifts her chin, hands balled to fists. He smiles, but this time it isn’t happy, it’s a sorrowful tilt of the lips that speaks of his compassion. Gaara is an inherently lonely person; perhaps that’s why she can’t pretend around him. It’s enough to break her, unable to swallow the flood of all she’s bottled up. It’s too much, and it’s been too long since anyone’s understood her pain. He doesn’t push her away once she feels her legs won’t be enough to hold her, the crook of his neck the perfect place to hide the shame rolling down her cheeks. He doesn’t respond right away, frozen as she holds onto him with crushing force; as if he’ll disappear otherwise.

But he doesn’t smell of cinders and smoke, instead the almost familiar scent of desert rain envelops her, and it manages to transform her tears into something nearly beautiful. His arms loop around her with obvious hesitance, his hold too gentle, too fragile to keep her together—but she’s grateful he doesn’t speak, aware how silly they must look in the middle of the road. Already she feels the beginnings of a headache, a dull throb behind her eyes as tears stain his shirt. It’s her every insecurity pouring out; every solitary night, every hour spent without another problem to solve, another patient to fix. Shame claws at her gut, keeps her from pulling away. She knows they can’t stay like this, knows she’s selfish for putting this burden on Gaara—but it still takes all she has to uncurl her fingers from their hold, her feet moving in a sullen retreat.

She shakes her head, hastily wiping at her cheeks. “I’m sorry I-“

“It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not okay, I’m a ninja, I-“

“You’re also human, Sakura.”

“You’re the Kazekage, and- and I shouldn’t bother you with my issues—I shouldn’t be-”

He picks up both their bags. “Come,” he says, “let’s walk.”

Sakura nods, gaze averted, hands still rubbing her face, attempting to erase her weakness. Despite the remaining wobbliness of her legs, she’s glad to be in motion. Somehow it feels like moving forward—if only from her momentary failings.

“I’ve been an insomniac since I was a child,” he speaks, calm enough to soothe her. “Whenever I fell asleep, the One-Tail would take control of my body, murdering as many people he could.”

Sakura remains silent, watching the redhead with large eyes, her sadness all but forgotten in the wake of such an admission.

“Though he’s no longer with me, 16 years of avoiding sleep is a tough habit to break.”

She bites her lip, wrapping her arms around herself. “Have you ever seen a medic for this?” Her voice is still hoarse, but she can almost pretend he doesn’t notice.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t been too set on solving it.”

Sakura frowns. “I can’t imagine never sleeping to be healthy.” She rubs her shoulder, half-turned to the man beside her. “I have herbs at home that might help, I could give them to you.”

He shrugs. “Perhaps it’s also my own reluctance that plays a part.” It’s a confession she hadn’t expected, not from him. “You can’t control dreams, not like you can thoughts.”

Night terrors—that’s the real issue. She fights the urge to reach out, to offer comfort; she isn’t sure he’d find it comforting at all. “There is a way to treat that.” She fidgets with the sleeve of her dress, hoping she isn’t overstepping. “If you’d be open to it, I could help.”

He stares off into the distance, seemingly deep in thought, before his gaze seizes her up, causing her to stiffen. “I’ll agree,” he starts, the beginnings of a smirk twisting his lips, “but only if you promise to reduce your working hours.”

She gapes at him, shoulders raised and hands balled at her sides. He has her and he knows it—the conniving bastard actually dares be glib about it! “Fine,” she scoffs, well-aware she’s played right into his scheme, “but only because I’d like to see you live past your twenties.”

“Likewise,” he rebuts, and Sakura finds herself grinning, the ache in her chest momentarily forgotten.

* * *

Sakura doesn’t know if she should be annoyed by the eagerness with which she’s awarded time off—like it’s a bad thing she’s dedicated to her job. Her fellow medics wave her goodbye with genuine enthusiasm, and she’d almost believe she’s accomplished something special. The joke’s on them though; tonight, Sakura has her own patient to treat. It excites her—the prospect of righting a wrong—and fills her with enough energy to scrub her apartment and hide her dying plants. She’s made an extra bed for Gaara to sleep in, prepping herself with enough coffee and scrolls to last the night. Three of them, that’s all the time she has to solve this. She knows this isn’t entirely about him, not truly, but she doesn’t want to think too much about it.

Her fingers brush the skin above her heart, emulating his touch, feeling its flutter beneath their tips. There are many things she doesn’t want to think too much about when it comes to Gaara; like how such a simple gesture could bring with it such intricacy. She finds herself repeating it throughout the day, her hand rising to her chest without her noticing. It’s a small comfort, a reminder she isn’t alone after all. She wonders if, had she not dragged him off to dance, they’d ever be anything but strangers to each other. Though they’re not quite friends yet, the thought itself aches. Already, she doesn’t think she could miss him—and that alarms her. Part of her insists she’s ridiculous; gravitating to someone because they said some nice things. But right now it’s all she‘s got, and she can hardly blame herself for wanting to feel better than she has.

The doorbell rings, and again she’s up in a flash. She smooths down her shirt, tucks her hair behind her ear, and checks her reflection a final time. This is the Kazekage, she tells herself; she wouldn’t want him to think her unkempt. He’s in his usual red this time, but the familiarity of his outfit isn’t what throws her off.

“You didn’t...”

His eyes shoot between her and the object in his hands, frowning. “I clearly did.”

“You didn’t have to—you’re too nice, I-“

He tips his head, eyeing her before pushing the succulent into her hands. “If the dead plants in the other room are anything to go by, I’d wager it’s absolutely necessary.”

She starts, widened eyes darting between him and the hidden collection of potted plants in her closet. “How’d you...”

“I can sense the earth,” he says, passing her as he enters, “I’ve seen deserts with more moisture.”

She watches as he slides his bag off his shoulders, searching for a way to retort but finding he’s absolutely right. She huffs, crossing her arms, the small succulent still in her hand. “Here I thought you walked me home to be a gentleman, not to spy on my plants.” He chuckles—actually chuckles at her words—and she’s certain she feels the brush of his fingers again, the ghost of their touch quickening her pulse. But he’s at the other end of the hallway, and she’s reminded it’s her own hand that trails her skin.

“Your home shouldn’t be a graveyard, Sakura.”

The sound of her name sends a shiver down her spine, and she quickly closes the door behind her, as if she can hide from it that way. “Well,” she swallows, holding the succulent close, “it’s hard to argue with that.” She gestures for him to continue on ahead, following close behind as he moves. The plant is actually very cute, its thick leaves rimmed with a hint of pink. And it’s a thoughtful choice too; succulents hardly need water, so it should be able to survive her neglect. She doesn’t want to think too hard about his comment—after all, there are ghosts in her closet that aren’t exclusively plants. She swallows against the dryness of her throat, clearing it before speaking: “would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

She nods, turning towards her kitchen, placing the succulent on her windowsill. “I’ve also prepared a special tea for you to drink. It’ll help you sleep, as well as block your chakra to make sure you don’t hurt me on accident.” She pours two glasses, carrying them both to her kitchen table, offering him a seat. “Tonight we’ll be timing when the dreams start. I’ll need to know how long it takes for them to occur so I can break the pattern tomorrow.” She sits down opposite of him, holding her glass between her fingers, feeling the water move in response. “Nervous?”

He shakes his head. “You?”

Of course she’s nervous; she’s about to witness a powerful man at what might be his most vulnerable. Yes, she’s a professional, but Gaara is Gaara, and he’s not supposed to be vulnerable—ever. “Slightly.”

He releases a small breath, leaning back in his chair. “I trust you.”

“You hardly know me,” she speaks before thinking, biting her tongue afterwards.

He smiles. “I know you enough.”

Enough to leave himself defenseless, apparently. Still she finds herself nodding, gathering her courage before retreating into her kitchen. She boils the water in silence, staring at the small plant on her windowsill. It’s sweet, and it begs the question whether such had always been Gaara’s nature. If so, what could have possibly twisted his soul into something so ugly? Her hand caresses her stomach, remembering the crushing weight of his sand, the smell of death and gore. That’s the Gaara she’s known, the untouchable killer—will it be him she’ll encounter tonight? It doesn’t frighten her, if anything she’s more afraid to lose the current him—the Gaara who somehow knows exactly what she needs. She shifts her weight, watching as she allows the herbs to steep, their fragrant smell filling her kitchen. Then, she filters them out, straightening her shoulders before returning to the table.

“This will need about an hour to take effect,” she says as she hands him the tea, glancing towards the bed she’s made. “It’s best you get ready to sleep right after drinking, since you’ll become increasingly dazed. The bathroom is that door over there.” She nods to the door in question. “You’ll be sleeping here, and I’ll be staying on the couch beside you.” She returns to her seat, watching him as he slowly drinks his tea. “I’ll leave a light on so you don’t get lost.”

He makes a sour face, lowering the glass with a subtle frown.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, suppressing an amused grin as he shakes his head. “Medicine’s not supposed to taste good.”

“That’s no justification.”

She clicks her tongue, unable to keep from smiling as he sourly downs the rest of it. “It’s to ensure you’re not going to need it in the future. Now go and get ready before I have to carry you.”

He sends her a sceptical look—or at least she thinks so; it’s hard to tell in his case—before standing, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he heads to her bathroom. She takes the opportunity to make herself some coffee, aware she’ll have to remain alert all night. She’s laid out the appropriate scrolls, as well as placed her clock in clear sight. She runs several scenarios through her head while he’s away, trying to prepare herself for the unknown. It’s a near impossible task, and she just hopes she’s equipped to handle him at his worst. But this is Gaara, and he wouldn’t trust her if he didn’t think her capable. It’s a small relief, and again she repeats his praise in her head, feeling less like a hack and more like a medic who carried their weight during the war.

He reenters the room in a black shirt and pants, somehow managing to look at home in her apartment. It’s a disconcerting thought, and she quickly gulps down her coffee, if only to distract from her own folly. Her eyes move towards his face, a frown puckering her brow at what she sees.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s bad to sleep with make-up on?”

He pauses, then blinks, then frowns, then appears to realise what she’s talking about. He takes the seat next to her, the beginnings of an amused grin on his face, causing her to hold an anticipatory breath. Her lips part when he touches her, long fingers wrapping around her hand, lifting it off the table. He closes his eyes, gently bringing her thumb to the edge of his right lid. She’s frozen for a beat, her breath still stuck in her chest. His face is warm beneath her touch, the hint of lashes brushing her thumb sending a shiver down her spine. She swallows, releasing a soft breath as she traces the patch of black, for the first time noticing it doesn’t smudge or fade—unlike Kankuro’s face paint. She frowns, leaning in to get a closer look, her other hand joining to trace the other one. Slowly it dawns on her; it’s the colour of his skin. She’s never questioned the markings before, and she reckons they might be similar to Naruto’s whiskers.

His eyes open, and she’s barely able to keep from flying back, her face flushing once she realises their proximity. Up close, she‘s able to tell apart the pupils from his irises, their outline revealed only by the angle of the light. It’s dizzying, and she can’t help but fixate on those iridescent depths. Swallowing, she lowers her hands, her fingertips accidentally trailing the skin of his cheeks. “That’s pretty cool,” she mutters, clearing her throat afterwards.

He blinks, as if he wasn’t all there, his gaze darting across her face—and she’s now able to notice the way his pupils focus on her. “Hm?”

“The, um... the markings. You never have to worry about ruining your make-up when you cry.” Shit. That was a stupid thing to say.

He snorts, closing his eyes again, his smile lingering as he sways ever so slightly, and- wait... is he falling asleep? She panics, grabbing his shoulders, attempting to get his attention. It doesn’t work, and just as she’s about to stand, he falls into her arms, his head resting against her chest and... oh god. Oh god! There’s a heat spreading to her face, and if her heart doesn’t wake him then nothing can. She doesn’t quite know what to do, her hands shaking as she tries to push him off—but he’s heavier than he looks, and the soft tickle of his hair distracts her. She tries not to think about how nice he smells—she’s drugged the Kazekage after all, she shouldn’t be thinking anything! She bites her lip, releasing a breath through her nose, forcing herself to calm.

She sends a steady stream of chakra through her arms, giving them the strength to carry him. Cautiously, she drags him towards the bed, trying not to bump into anything. She uses a hand to lift the blankets before attempting to lower him, releasing a shriek when he doesn’t let go. For someone who flinches when touched, he’s surprisingly clingy. She has to peel his arms off, one by one, before she can finally put him down. He doesn’t stir, or react in any way, which means the herbs are doing their job better than she is. Dropping onto her couch, she rubs her face with her hands, eyes traveling towards the small succulent on her windowsill, reminding herself there’s no need to worry: Gaara knows exactly what she’s capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR THE COMMENTS! ❤️


	4. Hurts to haunt

It’s the silence that gets to her, chills her to the bone; he doesn’t scream or cry as he shoots up, eyes wide and panicked. Instead, the room is filled with only the loud rush of her blood, dizzying. His hand covers his scar, fingertips tracing its outline. He twists his nails into the skin, or at least tries to. Sand stops him before she can, and she’s frozen to the spot. It’s impossible—she’s blocked his chakra, he shouldn’t be able to. But still it moves, forming a barrier, an absolute defence. He stays like that, eyes wide and unseeing, their pale shade nearly indistinguishable from the white around it. His legs bend, raising themselves against his chest, arms encircling them, head lowering to his knees. His hands ball into fists, clenching and unclenching. It’s something Sakura finds all too familiar, feeling a chill sweep down her limbs as she watches the ritual. She has to pinch herself, the irregular gallop that is her pulse drowning out her rationale.

In her fingers she feels the ghost of nights passed, where’s she’s awake but unseeing—seeing only pointed swords, cutting thunder and onyx eyes, worst of all herself forsaken. Left behind, forgotten. But she’s a medical ninja, for fucks sake, and she’ll keel over before she’s ever convinced she’s useless again. She reaches out, lays a hand on his shoulder—because comforting or not it’s the only comfort she has to offer. His reflexes are lightning fast, head whipping around as his eyes pin her with their hatred—she’s reminded of the taste of metal on her lips, the crunch of her bones—but it goes as fast as it comes, and in its place there’s the relief of recognition. Words die on the tip of her tongue, twist themselves against the hold of her teeth. Instead there’s an unspoken affirmation between them, and she dares not break the silence. She shifts her weight, sits herself beside him, her presence made real by the creak of the mattress and raise of his head.

Her arm wraps around his back, side pressed to side as she rests her temple against his shoulder, the warmth of his body a soothing relief to linger. It takes a while before he relaxes, before the tension oozes from his body and melts him into her hold. There’s comfort in the familiar whiff of his shirt, and she can almost forget the pain she’s seen in his eyes. She adds it to the growing list of things not to think about, her hand clenching and unclenching in her lap, reminding her they both have hurts to haunt them.

* * *

She wakes up to a note, attached to a small box. She doesn’t recognise the handwriting, squinting her eyes at its message: ‘Sorry, I had a meeting scheduled. I called the hospital to make sure you weren’t needed. They told me you’d taken the week off, which is good. Please rest, I’ll check in on you this afternoon. If you need anything before that, I’m at the Hokage tower. Gaara.’ She blinks, narrows her eyes again, and frowns at the name. Why on earth... Oh shit! She burrows beneath the pillow, mentally slapping herself for being so stupid, shame burning its way up her neck—how could she fall asleep? _He’s_ supposed to be _her_ patient, not the other way around. Yet here she is, in his bed, wasting the day away while he... she lifts her head, peering inside the box, feeling herself flush even further. Of course he’s bought her breakfast. She groans, covering her face with her hands.

She can’t believe she’s made a fool of herself in front of the Kazekage... again. Taking a deep breath, she glances towards her scrolls, relieved to note she at least wrote down what she needed. Good, it’s fine. So what if she shared a bed with Gaara? He couldn’t have minded, or else he wouldn’t have gotten her breakfast, right? She swallows the guilt blocking her throat, raising herself as she takes the box. The least she should be is grateful, so she makes sure to enjoy the food. How he manages to know all her favourite dishes is beyond her; Shikamaru doesn’t know her _that_ well, after all. But she decides not to question her luck, instead closing her eyes as she releases a contented sigh. It’s been a while since she’s had a decent breakfast, or allowed herself to sleep in for that matter. Despite only enjoying half a night’s worth of it, she feels surprisingly well-rested.

Even so, there’s still a hint of exhaustion behind her eyes, and once finished she decides taking another nap wouldn’t hurt; Kazekage’s orders after all. She rests her head, bending her legs as she burrows into the bed’s comfort, noticing he still lingers upon its fabric. She takes a deep breath, feeling herself relax as sleep overtakes her.

* * *

Someone’s at her door, and she feels tempted to ignore their presence. Stuck between somewhere and a dream, she curses when there’s another knock. Grumbling to herself, she stretches against the hold of sleep, rubbing her eyes and wetting her lips as she stands. Her feet are still heavy, and she can’t help but drag them across the floor. Yawning, she opens the door, blinking against the brightness of the sun. Her vision clears, but her sleep-addled brain takes several more seconds to catch up—panicking once it does.

“Gaara!” Shit. She smooths down her shirt, flips back her hair, and tries to appear casual.

His gaze sweeps her up and down, a heat creeping up her neck, warming her cheeks. “Good morning,” he greets, and she swears he’s raising a brow. “I take it you’re well-rested?”

She nods—a little too frantically in her haste—sending him a thin-lipped smile, leaning a shoulder against her door-post.

“Good.” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair and... is he nervous? “How fast can you get dressed?”

She frowns, searching his gaze. “I don’t know, depends. Why?”

He looks away, crossing his arms. “Naruto invited you for dinner.”

She straightens her back, shifting her weight. “Just me?”

“Well, no,” he starts, and she notices the hint of pink tinging his cheeks. “He wanted me to come, but I told him I couldn’t because I had other plans and...”

It’s her time to raise a brow. “And he wouldn’t stop asking until you told him?”

He releases a breath, shoulders slumping. “Yes.”

“And then he insisted you bring me, too?”

“Yes.”

She sighs, rubbing her temple. “Alright, come in and give me ten minutes.”

He obeys in silence, accepting the seat she offers. She scurries off into her room, diving into her closet and collecting the items she needs, wasting no time before heading to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth and styles her hair, relieved it’s still willing to cooperate after an entire day in bed. She kicks off her pants and discards her shirt, replacing them with a green sundress. She adds a hint of make-up, liking the way her lashes frame her eyes. She’s finished within minutes, stepping around the corner with an excited grin. Gaara’s taken off his jacket in the meantime, leaving him dressed in a rather snug shirt. She has to resist the straying of her eyes, trying not to think about the lean shape it reveals—it’s Gaara, after all.

They head out, walking in silence, the sun casting their shadows across the pavement. It’s a strange turn of events to find herself having dinner with him again, but she can’t say she minds—if anything, she enjoys their time spent together. Little by little, she’s growing more comfortable around him, shedding her initial diffidence (some of it, at least). With time, she’s learning there are many things she appreciates about Gaara. He’s reliable, honest, and best of all considerate. He could make someone very happy, if he’d let himself. She doesn’t know what it is that holds him back—could it be he has no desire for romance? No, he’s honest; if that were true he would have said so. Most likely it’s his past keeping him at a distance. Admittedly, she doesn’t know much about it, but if her experiences with jinchuuriki are anything to go by... Yet Naruto managed just fine, now happily married to one of the sweetest people Sakura knows. Gaara should be just as capable—his good looks an added bonus.

She finds herself throwing glances his way, convincing herself she’s only trying to decide whether his shirt’s navy or indigo. He looks up, causing her to stumble, quickly directing her eyes at their moving shadows. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.” She joins her hands behind her back, wanting nothing more than for him to realise how good a person he is—how much more life might offer him if he dared try.

“You’re welcome.”

“It was really nice of you.”

“So was what you did.”

She meets his gaze, searching his features, shrugging. “Just doing my job as a medic.”

He closes his eyes, smiling as he shakes his head. It occurs to her they’re walking much closer, and, biting her lip, she experimentally inches nearer. He doesn’t move away, and she’s certain it has to be a conscious decision. Why, she doesn’t know—could be he doesn’t mind as much as she thought. Part of her itches to know, to understand the duplicity that is Gaara and touch, but still she doesn’t dare ask. Instead she reaches out, wrapping her hands around his forearm, hoping to incite in him the courage to at least consider.

“You do know it’s _your_ job to escort me, right?”

His eyes shoot to their joined limbs, and she notices they’re slightly wider than usual. “It is?” He meets her gaze, and she has to swallow the dizzy flutter it evokes.

“Yes.” She smirks, sending him a playful wink. “Tonight, I’m your plus one.”

He averts his eyes, staring down the road as he clears his throat. “I didn’t know. This is only my second dinner.”

“Wait, your second?” That means... He’s warm beneath her touch, and she wonders if one can grow addicted to the feel of someone’s skin.

“I’m not really the type of person to be invited.”

She blinks against the heaviness in her chest, straightens her back if only to shoulder her conviction. “But you’re the Kazekage.”

He nods, licking his lips—would they be soft and warm, too? “That’s part of the reason.” His gaze drops to their feet, something Sakura’s grateful for, blood rushing to her face—did she really just wonder... “Those who no longer fear me, respect me. But respect is a double-edged sword. To them, I’ve become more of an idea, instead of a person.”

She hums as she bites her cheek, fighting the warmth there, watching the wind blow his hair across his forehead, thinking it’s a beautiful colour. “Well then,” she musters a smile, squeezing his arm, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, “tonight you’re amongst friends—and to us, you’ll always be Gaara.” Friends. That’s what they are now.

He meets her gaze, an answering smile forming on his lips, crinkling his eyes—she’s never seen them crinkle before, and the sight does funny things to her stomach. The realisation creates a rift inside the cage of her ribs, spills a cold from there. It hadn’t occurred to her, but the unwelcome thought of Sasuke enters her mind; whether he’d be bothered by their interactions. It’s the last thing she wants tonight, the heavy gloom of it already weighing on her. After all, if he’d be bothered, then why hasn’t she heard from him in months?

“You know, you haven’t been a very good friend so far.” Gaara places his hand over hers, startling her from her thoughts.

“What do you mean?” she asks through the malfunction of her lungs, breathless beneath his warmth.

His lips lift into a smirk she dares not look at, a playful glint in his eyes. “I thought friends were supposed to share, instead you left me in the cold last night.”

She narrows her eyes, partly relieved to hear him joke about it. “Wait, are you accusing me of being a blanket hogger?”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re real spoilt, you know that?” she huffs, feeling a smile pull at her lips. “You try sleeping once, and now there’s no end to the entitlement.” She attempts to imagine Sasuke teasing her over such trivial things, but can’t conjure anything beside his annoyance.

“You’re right.” he turns his eyes to the road ahead, and she follows his gaze to Naruto’s house, spotting Hinata at their gate. “I suppose you’re much better than a blanket.”

A beat, followed by another, ensuring her pulse still dances, although thundering, although drumming through the tips of her fingers—or is it his? She parts her lips, sucking in a breath, chest rising with hot air, static against her skin, and something tells her things just got complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. I’ve finally figured out how to end this thing, so I’ll be adding the number of remaining chapters soon.


	5. Who needs it more

His hand on hers, the skin of his arm beneath her palm, warming her from the inside out. The sun spills through a roof of leaves, dotting the sand with its glow, creating stars upon a nearby stream. For a moment, everything’s perfect—for just a second, she’s whole and can imagine the smile on her lips to remain for all her days. He’s gracious as he speaks, his voice a deep tremble in her chest, smooth enough to slip past her objections. It’s nice, for a beat, to pretend any of this be hers to take, to clamp within her hold and never release. But he’s Gaara, and she... she’s lost her heart to the ghost in her life.

“Sakura! It’s been so long,” Naruto exclaims, capturing her in a hug, breaking the illusion she tries cling to.

“Yes,” she musters a smile, returning his embrace, “it has.” Since the wedding... since realising coming second is the best she’ll do.

“It’s so good seeing you, though! I hear you’ve been busy,” he continues, stepping back, hands on her shoulders.

She nods, rubbing her arm, heavier under his weight. “Yes, it’s been some crazy months.”

“Tell me about it!” he laughs. “I’m just happy Gaara got you to join—there’s so much we have to tell you.”

She glances around their little group, from Hinata’s glowing features to Gaara’s soft smile, feeling the corners of her lips start to lift. “Me too,” she says, and means it.

* * *

She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed Naruto’s cheer, his toothy grin an infectious habit, rubbing off on her within seconds. They’re taken inside the new Uzumaki home, a place she had yet to visit—shame has her red-cheeked and silent, eyes taking in the cosiness present in every corner. She finds herself lingering at Gaara’s side, rubbing shoulders through cramped hallways, sending apologetic smiles—though he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s a lovely home you have,” he says—and she agrees.

“Thank you,” Hinata smiles.

“Well it’s no Kazekage mansion,” Naruto laughs. “But it’s home, you know.”

Sakura’s gaze darts between the two men.

“There’s no value to something you haven’t earned,” Gaara amends, and she doesn’t miss the tight set of his eyes.

“I guess we shouldn’t get started on my appartement,” she jokes, if only to lift the darkness she glimpses.

He looks at her. “Your appartement is fine.” His brow puckers in a manner she thinks disapproving. “Aside from no one living in it.”

She gasps, bumping his shoulder in challenge. “What are you now? My land-lord?”

He chuckles, but there’s a lingering frown suggesting he means it. “I’m afraid such falls outside my jurisdiction.”

“Well I heard you have a mansion to share if you’re so worried about jurisdiction.” Her breath seizes as soon as the words are out, and this time she sees her blush mirrored on his cheeks.

He clears his throat. “And upset your Hokage?”

“Yeah, Sakura-chan!” Naruto exclaims, “we couldn’t miss you.”

She forces a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, no worries.” She has nowhere to be, after all, and she wonders if she’s justified feeling stuck in a life she isn’t sure suits her.

They head for the living room, taking their seats around the dinner table. Sakura sits next to Gaara this time, his warmth lingering in the air between them. She keeps silent as they talk—mostly mundane topics—watching Gaara as he speaks. Her cheeks warm at the memory of what he’s told her, and she averts her eyes, probing her food before looking up.

Naruto’s gaze darts between them, then, his hands stilling. “So, things must be getting serious between the two of you, right?”

She feels another rush of blood, her eyes widening. “No, we’re not dating!”

“Oh, well I assumed since you...”

“We’re just sleeping together.” Dead serious, features utterly unreadable.

“No, no! We’re not-“

“Are you saying we didn’t?” Gaara asks, meeting her gaze,

“I mean, yes, but...” she stammers, blood searing in her veins. Does he even realise what he’s implying here? Surely he’s not that dense—if she remembers correctly he’s played this trick before. Which means... “Wait,” she sits back, narrowing her eyes, “are you fucking with me?”

“Language,” he raises a brow, but there’s the dawning of a smirk on his lips, and she’d be damned if he weren’t fighting it.

The bastard! Well, she isn’t one to take things lying down, and she’s fairly certain two can play this game. “You tricked me into it, remember?”

“You proposed, I accepted.”

“You knew I couldn’t refuse!”

“You shouldn’t fling such accusations over dinner.”

She laughs. “You’re the one implying we’re having sex!”

“I would never,” he refutes drily, managing to look genuinely affronted.

Hinata has turned crimson as her husband eyes the both of them. “So you’re not?”

Gaara folds his hands before his chin. “Sakura’s helping me sleep.”

“Oh...”

“Nothing more,” she emphasises, her amusement lingering on her lips as she sends Gaara a scolding look.

“Wow,” Naruto runs a hand through his hair, sitting back. “You know, you just cost Grandma a buck-load of money.”

Sakura frowns. “What, Tsunade? Why?”

“Well, it’s sort of a game among the Kages to place bets, so... There’s been one on wether Gaara would ever sleep or not.”

Shock, followed by disbelief, her fists ramming the table. “You what!”

“Hey,” Naruto raises his hands, releasing a nervous laugh, “it’s just a harmless game.”

“Harmless?” she shrieks. “This is his _health_! And you’re placing money on that! Instead of helping?”

“It’s fine,” Gaara interjects.

“No it’s not fine,” she throws his way, scowling as she returns to Naruto. “What kind of a friend are you?” Then to Gaara: “and you!” He looks genuinely surprised to be caught in the middle, pale eyes gone wide. “You shouldn’t allow them to patronise you like that!”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Well you _should_.”

He parts his lips, but no words follow. His eyes dart across her face, and in them she sees the words too caustic to share; ‘at least they’re not afraid’. It breaks the leftover pieces of her heart, realising she’s done the exact same. God, they’re stupid, both of them—she’s not used to feeling the burn of hypocrisy, and she’s sure she carries it on her skin.

“You’re right, Sakura,” Hinata says. “Naruto should apologise—what kind of friend would he be otherwise?”

“Yes,” Naruto quickly nods. “I am sorry, Gaara. It was stupid.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Good...” he slackens, breathing a sigh. “Because, you know, I did plan on making you godfather.”

Sakura straightens, glancing between the married couple, understanding dawning on her.

“And you godmother, Sakura.” Hinata blushes.

Gaara remains completely silent beside her, fingers curling around his cutlery. She swallows, warmth blooming in her chest, a stinging in her eyes. Sniffling, she wipes at them, feeling a grin tug at her lips.

“I can’t believe this, guys,” she says through her smile, “that’s amazing news!”

“I know right!” Naruto boasts, positively glowing. “Everyday I have to remind myself I’m not dreaming.”

She’s certain he looks the happiest she’s ever seen him, and in her excitement she takes their hands from across the table, squeezing them in her own. “I’m so happy for the both of you.” She can’t help the tears rolling down her cheeks, teeth worrying her lip as she looks at her two friends. No longer are they rookies from the Academy; they’ve managed to grow up without her, and now they’ll be the first to lead in the next generation. “How far along?”

“Two months,” Hinata says, eyes bright as stars. “I wasn’t sure at first, but then all the signs were there, and...” she smiles, the type of smile reserved for delighted mothers. “I just knew.” It’s heartwarming, and the happiness Sakura feels overshadows any sense of self-doubt.

“Congratulations,” Gaara says, “to both of you.” Sakura watches his smile, noting its unfamiliarity, sensing something off—realising it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s almost businesslike in its politeness, and she can only wonder about its reasons.

* * *

They’re in the kitchen, cleaning whatever remains of dinner. She stands scraping left-overs from a plate, deep in thought as Naruto passes by.

“Sakura-chan...” he starts, his hesitance grabbing her attention, “do you know what you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just...” he averts his gaze, looking at anything but her. “This is _Gaara_.”

She feels her breath leave her. “So?”

“So...” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, suggesting his reluctance with the topic. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

She’s taken aback, heart an irregular gallop. “What are you even implying?” She narrows her eyes, putting away the plate before crossing her arms.

“Nothing, it’s just-“

“Well, clearly it is something, or else you wouldn’t think it worth mentioning.”

He lowers his hands, looking her in the eye, releasing a deep breath as he appears to collect himself. “I’ve just never heard him joke,” he pauses, then adds: “or laugh.”

She glares, shifting her weight. “Perhaps you’re not as funny as you’d like to think.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He shakes his head, a grave look settling over him. “I know he might seem strong—put together—but you don’t know what he’s been through.” ‘What _we’ve_ been through’, she hears. “You could hurt him in ways you won’t even expect—just... don’t get his hopes up.” ‘someone like you could never understand’. Another pause. Then: “have you heard from him?”

It pains her, and she finds herselfleaning against the counter, the sting of it causing her thoughts to lag behind. “Who?” she finally asks, shaking her head.

“Sasuke.”

Right... Somehow Gaara had managed to make her forget all about him—something she should probably be grateful for. “No.”

He nods, averting his gaze.

And she doesn’t want to, yet still finds herself asking: “have you?”

He stills, eyes offering plenty of insight despite his silence. “I-“ he stammers, pausing.

“ _Have_ you?” She’s tired of it, this game of run and chase, and wonders why Naruto would bring it up if he doesn’t at least dare be honest. She’s about to push away from the counter, ready to return to the others, when he interrupts.

“Yes. He writes me every week.”

She isn’t surprised; somehow she knew all along, perfectly aware thinking she came second was a bit generous. She nods, fumbling with her sleeve, moving its fabric between her fingers. “I’m glad he keeps you updated,” she says, unable to recognise the sound of her own voice. She moves, then, passing without a second glance.

“Sakura wai-“ Naruto starts, but she rounds the corner before he can finish. The outside air is fresh as it hits her, washing some of the heat from her veins, allowing her to breathe easier. Gaara and Hinata stand several feet away, softly conversing, looking out into the garden. He turns at the sound of her, pale features illuminated by the final rays of sunshine, bathing him in gold—he’s beautiful, and the fact he’s something she’ll never understand strikes her as cruel. She feels nervous as she answers his smile, the ache in her chest worsened by his kindness. She swallows against the closing of her throat, blinks away the tears in her eyes.

“I think we should go,” she manages to say, balling her fists at the fragility of it. “It’s getting late, and...”

He nods, and she’d almost curse him for his grace, eyes warm as he thanks Hinata, wishes her all the best. She wants to do the same, wants so badly to be the friend they deserve, but her voice is lost somewhere in the hollow of her heart, and all she manages is an agreeing smile.

“You’re leaving?” Naruto asks as he steps out, and he carries his regret in the hesitance of his smile—but it’s no difference, regret or not, it doesn’t change what’s true.

“Yes, I think it’s best we...” Her arms wrap around her ribs, shelter her feelings. “A consistent rhythm is key.” She nods, more to herself than anyone else—as if she’ll be more convincing that way. She feels Gaara’s presence before she sees him, his warmth a gentle caress against her shoulder. It isn’t until she looks that she realises it’s his hand sliding down her back, his touch featherlight, balancing her.

“Thank you, Naruto,” he says, and she closes her eyes at the sound of him. “I’ll keep in contact regarding the issues we’ve discussed.”

Naruto grins, rubbing his neck. “You’re welcome—just let me know whenever you need a break from those geezers, alright?”

“Will do.” His hand is there to guide her, allowing her time to react before they start moving. “Good night.”

“Thank you guys,” she says, waving at them over her shoulder, avoiding the pity in Naruto’s gaze. She’s grateful for Gaara’s presence, keeping close to his side, seeking shelter in the bend of his arm. They walk out into the street in silence, and she wants nothing more than to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Tell me if I’m overstepping.” She looks up at the sound of his voice, meeting his gaze with searching eyes. “You seemed upset,” he continues, looking away, “and I’m not too experienced dealing with such things.”

It takes her a moment to understand, the gestures so natural to her she wouldn’t think to second guess them. “This is perfect,” she smiles, leaning in to him, “thank you.” She closes her eyes, allowing her head to drop against him. He stiffens at first, the beat of his heart drumming in her ear, betraying his own nerves. He’s encouraged by her acceptance, his hold growing firmer as he relaxes, and she’s happy he’s braver than she. Naruto’s words replay at the back of her mind, reminding her she’s wrong for accepting this man’s kindness, for allowing him toopen his heart to her. If there’s anything she’s realised tonight, it’s that Gaara doesn’t offer himself to just anyone—and though it fills her with a giddy sense of pride, she’s also aware her selfishness risks more than she’s worth.

* * *

“Tomorrow’s your final day, right?” she asks, fumbling with her scrolls.

“It is.” He stares at the ceiling, hands folded on his chest.

She nods, biting down on her pen, gaze darting between him and her notes. “Any plans?”

He turns to look at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Not _yet_.”

She grins, folding her legs beneath her. “Fine, you caught me,” she starts, a flutter in her chest. “I was thinking we could... hang out?”

He smiles, gaze returning to the ceiling. “I’d like that.”

“Good!” Relief, followed by excitement.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, let’s see,” she taps her chin, eyes wandering the room, “it has to be something you can’t in Suna...”

“Sleep?”

She releases a laugh. “No, something we can do toge-“ she cuts herself off, blood rushing to her face. “I mean-“

He chuckles, grin exposing his teeth, she finds herself staring at his canines; they’re sharp, like Naruto’s, and—to her—it endears him further.

“I think I have an idea,” she smirks, “but it’ll be a surprise.”

“I think,” he slurs, and she notices his eyes have closed, “I’ll like surprises.” She can tell he’s falling asleep, his features starting to relax. She writes down the time, listening as his breathing slows. Leaning forward, she gently brushes his hair to the side, telling herself it’s only to keep it out his eyes. She smiles, thinking she’ll have to ask him about his skin care, when she brushes along his scar. She pulls back, holding her hand to her chest, Naruto’s words returning. Because he’s right; she has absolutely no idea about Gaara’s experiences.

* * *

She keeps close watch as the time to wake him nears, readying her chakra. Her pulse is thick in her veins, throbbing through her skull. She’s nervous, but she supposes she has every right to be; his sand had moved without chakra, and she’s mindful to keep an eye on his gourd. So far he’s been sound asleep, showing no obvious signs of distress, but she can tell things are starting to turn by the twist of his brow. The clock hits the appropriate mark, and she reaches out a chakra covered hand, casting a green glow across his features. Resting her palm against his forehead, she channels a healing flow, sending a gentle current through his mind. She pulls him from slumber, his reaction instant. His eyes open, locking onto her, revealing—for just a fraction—the things he keeps from the world. He blinks, looks around, and moves to sit up, her hand dropping to her side. He stares off into nothing for a while, chest rising and falling with every slow breath. She isn’t sure if she should break the silence, and feels relieved when he does.

“That wasn’t too bad.” His voice is hoarser than usual, and she can hear whatever he’s felt still in its tone. 

“It shouldn’t be,” she says, clearing her throat. “The point is to prevent the worst.”

He nods, but she can tell he isn’t all there, eyes still staring straight ahead, seeing things she’ll never. He releases a shaky breath, lifts his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, running his fingers through his hair. There’s a lifetime written in the shadows of his face, his frown drawing lines that speak of his turmoil. “It feels sort of disingenuous doesn’t it?” he asks, head resting in his hands, gaze faraway. She’s never heard him talk this softly, and she finds herself scooting closer.

“What does?”

He looks up, eyes roaming her features in the dark, their outline highlighted by the sliver of moon. “I’m neither Naruto’s best friend, nor do I live in the same village.” He turns away, bringing his knees to his chest, arms resting against them. “By all means, appointing me godfather feels more like an act of pity.”

“I’m sure he-“ she pauses, because she isn’t, and she’d probably feel the same if she were him. Naruto knows Gaara’s reasons for coming to Konoha, knows he isn’t planning on fathering children himself. By all means, she would have expected him to pick Sasuke, and she realises Gaara probably did too.

“And then what? Were anything to happen to them. Would we take turns? What would even be the point?”

She doesn’t know—after all, it’d be safe to assume she’d be with Sasuke. Appointing _him_ godfather would make every bit more sense. “Perhaps he values your understanding his past?” She tilts her head, searching his features. “Because you are alike, and he wants that for his children?”

He meets her gaze. “We’re nothing alike.” He surprises her with his certitude. “Yes, we’ve had similar experiences, but he and I are worlds apart.”

She sucks in a breath, tucks her hair behind her ear, and nods. She’s starting to see—despite everything she thought she knew—in the end, Naruto understands him no more than she might.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, surprising her, “I didn’t intend to...” he pauses, resting his chin in his palm, eyes faraway again. She watches him sit like that, lost in thought, hair tousled by sleep. Again, he strikes her as young, and she aches at the idea of distance between them.

“Please, don’t be,” she says, raising a hand to his hair, wiping it from his brow, needing to feel connection. “I understand.”

He meets her gaze, and she feels now more than ever they’re alike in ways more significant than what they once were—it doesn’t matter what sets them apart, what differences they can count, so long as her heart dances to the song his presence sings to her now. She allows her hand to return to her side, still warm with the feel of him on her fingertips. His gaze follows it, then flicks back to her face, studying her. She fills her chest with air, holds it there so as not to disturb the moment. She feels swallowed by his eyes, the black rings surrounding them like endless fissures in the dark, leaving her unable to look away. She doesn’t notice he moves, at first, not until he averts his gaze. There’s no need for her to speak, and she doesn’t as she accepts his invitation, taking the space he’s created for her. The mattress dips beneath her weight, the blanket already warmed by him. She isn’t sure who needs it more—perhaps they’re equally starved—either way she’s grateful for the relief, if only for one more night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Controversial opinion, but I’ve always felt like Naruto could have been there more for Gaara. There’s this huge build-up between them, and then... there’s nothing really to follow it up except for Gaara mentioning him a lot. Thank you all for the comments, they make my day every time. This fic is already way out of hand and I’m pretty sure it’s turning into a PWP. 😂 Anyway I’m all caught up with what I had written, so... the wait might be longer starting now. Who knows. The heat keeps me home anyway, as does the virus.


	6. Close to attraction

She’s the first to wake, early rays of light spilling across her limbs, drawing streaks of orange. There’s an arm draped across her waist, pinning her with its warmth. Her gaze trails its hand; long, pale fingers slack with sleep. She traces them with her own, and they curl into her touch, wrapping around her palm, gentle enough to hopefully miss the shiver running through her. Carefully, she turns towards its owner, mindful not to wake him. He’s closer than she’d expected, her shoulder pressed against his chest, the beat of his heart on her skin. His breathing is slow, face showing not a single sign of awareness—he looks peaceful, long lashes interrupting marks of black, hairs of blonde dusting his brow. She wouldn’t mind remaining like this, counting every freckle to dot his skin, admiring the unblemished state of him—but she’s kind enough to spare him the embarrassment, all too aware these aren’t experiences for her to take.

So she carefully unwraps herself from his hold, immediately feels a chill where his warmth used to be, her skin longing for nothing more than to remain. But she knows; she has to be quick if she doesn’t want him to wake before she returns. She forces distance between them, goes to ready herself. She changes into a pair of shorts, picks a white top suited for the heat of summer. She brushes her teeth, washes her face, stares for a while, and wonders what she might look like through his gaze—does he even care? Her reflection has little insight to offer, and she quickly turns from it, trying not to linger on triviality. It doesn’t matter what he might think of her, whether he’d appreciate any of her features. That’s what she tells herself, at least, certain someone like Gaara has no interest in a pink-haired little thing. She’s out in a flash, relishes the morning air kissing her skin awake, refreshing her with its chill. There’s purpose in her step, her feet carrying her with confident strides. She knows exactly what she needs to do, and she’s excited to turn the tables on her guest.

* * *

She knocks, waits patiently, then knocks again. There’s no answer, and sheglares at the door. “I know you’re in there!” she calls, this time sending a burst of chakra through her fist, the wood creaking beneath its force. It immediately swings open to reveal a very annoyed Shikamaru.

“Do you have any ide-“

“What does Gaara like for breakfast?”

He sends her a non-plussed look, raises a brow. “The two of you could do with just asking each other these things.”

She narrows her eyes, juts her hip. “And ruin the surprise?”

He groans, rolls his neck, jawns from behind his palm. “Fine,” he concedes, “just anything that’s savoury—no sweets. He likes spices, so you can’t go wrong with them.”

She grins. “Thanks Shikamaru, you’re a lifesaver!”

“Just stop knocking on my door at this time of day, it’s exhausting.”

She laughs. “Will do!” she calls as she turns to leave, waving goodbye. He gingerly returns the gesture, sighing as he frowns, one hand stuck in his pocket. The thought to ask for more tempts her, certain Shikamaru’s one of the few to _know_ Gaara—but she forces herself to keep moving, resolving to discover these things on her own. They have an entire day together, and it’s been a while since she’s last felt so eager to start. She makes short work of the market, hand-picking ingredients she thinks match Shikamaru’s description. She’ll admit she isn’t too great a cook, but a decent breakfast is the least she can manage. She heads back home in a flash, a bag of groceries slinging at her side, occasionally bumping her leg. She hums as she walks, closing her eyes while soaking up the sun, happy there isn’t a cloud in the sky—they’ll need it for what she has planned.

She’s silent as she enters her appartement, mindful not to wake her guest, relieved to find him still asleep. She unpacks with as much stealth as she’s able to muster, thankful for her ninja training. Soon, her kitchen fills with the aroma of food, reminding her of when her mother used to cook for her, nostalgia warming her smile. In the background she can hear Gaara start to rouse, the bed creaking as he sits, narrowed eyes blinking against the light.

“Good morning!” she calls, chuckling at his extreme case of bedhead, hair sticking out at every possible angle. It’s such a domestic scene, and more than ever she realises it’s a glimpse of what she longs for—cliched, perhaps, but she can’t help wanting to share her life, can’t change her desire for something more meaningful than an occasional note. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He looks around the room, a hand running through his hair. “I just had the weirdest dream,” he says, sleep still clinging to his voice.

“Oh?” She moves everything to the table, arranging plates and glasses like a form of art. “Want to share it?”

“Well...” he hesitates, rubbing at his eyes, silent as he considers. He stands from the bed, scratches at his cheek, walks over with hesitant steps. “There was Lee.”

“The start of any weird thing around here.”

“And I was bald...” He shakes his head, and she has to stifle a laugh at the mental picture. “And Kankuro offered to paint new hair, but then Lee insisted to make the eyebrows bigger, and...” His gaze is faraway as he stares out the window, hands wrapped around a chair. “I don’t think I can do this sleep thing anymore.”

She snorts. “How about we eat breakfast and _then_ decide wether or not self-imposed insomnia is a good idea.”

His eyes flick to the table, darting across its contents. “You made all this?” he asks, and she’s certain he’s raising his brows.

She chews her lip, grinning. “I couldn’t do with you always spoiling me, now it’s my turn.”

He smiles, meeting her gaze, bringing a flutter to her stomach she doubts has anything to do with food. “Thank you, Sakura.”

* * *

“We’ll be out in the sun, so don’t dress too warm.”

He raises a sceptical brow. “Your clothing hardly protects from the heat.”

She glances down at her shorts, crossing her arms. “Just looking at you and your siblings gives me heatstroke.”

“The same could be said about you.”

She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips at how easy conversations have become between them—she’s well aware Gaara isn’t known to be a man of many words, and it amuses her how talkative he can be when given the chance. “I’m just not a fan of bathing in my own sweat, which is what’ll happen if I wear anything you would.”

He frowns at that. “Temari doesn’t bathe in sweat.”

She narrows her eyes, fairly certain he’s comparing them because they’re both women. “Your bodies are more acclimatised to the heat, so no, she wouldn’t.” As a medic, she’s fully aware covering skin works better to insulate body temperature; but, as a woman, she can’t deny her redheaded friend looks particularly disarming in a tee. “Now go get ready, I thought you Kages were supposed to be punctual?”

He sends her a look that’s telling enough; the last three Kages of Konoha aren’t exactly known for their tight scheduling. Still, he does as she says, headed for the bathroom, and Sakura can’t wait to show what she has planned.

* * *

She’s excited as she leads, hands joined at her back, cheeks sore from grinning. He humours her, a perpetual smile on his lips as he listens. She can’t recall the last time she’s talked this much, the words pouring out of her, glad he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s turning into a game; observing every minute change in his expression. She tells him the most ridiculous of stories, if only to hear his laugh. It’s not that hard a feat to accomplish, and she wonders if Naruto’s ever even tried—she wouldn’t have, had she not noticed Gaara’s sense of humour. It‘s easy to miss, and she‘s not surprised it flies right over the blond’s head.

They arrive when the sun is at its highest, broiling her with its heat, droplets of sweat pebbling her skin. She wipes at her brow, annoyed by Gaara’s apparent tolerance. He neither appears flushed, nor remotely close to breaking a sweat—proving her earlier point. The smells of grass and leaves permeate the air, imbuing it with a sense of summer. She’s surprised by the many couples and children visiting the park, sullenly realising she hasn’t been there in months. It’s a nice change of pace to go out like this, the sounds of laughter and birds refreshing her mind, reminding her why she’s always loved the dog days.

It seems Gaara’s happy to be there as well, his gaze flitting across verdant fields, watching the many families. It warms her heart to think of how much he’s changed—how hard he’s worked to be the man he is now—and she’s grateful he’s content spending his precious time with her. Her cheeks warm at the thought, fingers threading her hair as she averts her gaze, noticing they’ve arrived at their destination. She can’t help the lingering grin, brimming with excitement as her plan finally comes to fruition. She turns to Gaara, snatching his hand from the air, surprise flashing across his features as she starts pulling him along.

“We’re here!” she declares, watching his eyes go round as he follows. She bites her lip, slowing her pace, waiting for him to speak.

“A boat rental?” His gaze darts between her and the sign.

“Bet this is something you can’t do in Suna.” She smirks, releasing him as she crosses her arms, jutting her hip. It earns her a chuckle, and she prides herself for the accomplishment.

“You’re right,” he admits, eyes shining with mirth.

“As per usual.” She sends him a playful wink, immediately scolding herself for such behaviour, quickly turning towards the booth and arranging a boat for the two of them. She tries not to linger on the way he’d looked at her, her pulse disobeying her every attempt at reigning it in, telling herself it’s the novelty of his attention that has her respond in such undue ways. She feels silly for her inability to hold her composure in his presence, and she’s happy he doesn’t judge her for it (or he simply doesn’t notice, which she heavily suspects). “Let’s go.” She sends him a close-eyed smile. “Time to get you some sea-legs.”

They head for one of the boats, the water calm as it laps at the dock, the gentle sound of it soothing to her nerves. She’s surprised he offers her a helping hand, her palm sliding across his as she steps into the bobbing vessel, ignoring the shiver running down her body—it’s the water’s spray, she tells herself. He joins her as she settles, her hands wrapping around the paddles, thumbs tracing along weathered wood.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asks, watching as he unsurprisingly shakes his head. She smiles. “I’ll demonstrate, and you can try later.”

It’s an offer she soon comes to regret, the heat even worse now she’s exerting herself. Lucky for her, Gaara‘s stare seems captivated by the churning waters, and she’s relieved this isn’t a date—she’d be mortified if caught oozing sweat in such a case. Still, she feels herself relax in his presence, the gentle tilt of his lips easy to mirror. It doesn’t take them long to reach the center of the lake, its depth enunciated by the rich blue of the waves. She slumps against the wood, fanning herself in an attempt to cool down. It doesn’t help much, fresh droplets budding her brow, and she feels a flare of annoyance at her companion’s lack thereof.

“I can’t believe you’re not bothered—I’m sweating bucketloads.”

He shrugs, the subtlest of smirks on his lips. “Suppose your outfit doesn’t help.”

She narrows her eyes at him, an idea forming in her head. “You know what,” she starts, returning his smirk, “you’re right—but I know something that might.” She bites her lip, his eyes searching hers quizzically. She stands, the boat bobbing beneath her feet, hands keeping her balance.

“What are you-“

She doesn’t allow him time to finish, the chakra in her arms enough to rock the vessel, launching the both of them into the water. It’s refreshing as it hits her, an instant relief from the sweltering heat. There’s a satisfied grin on her face as she emerges, gasping for air, her legs kicking to keep her afloat. She scans her surroundings, trying to spot Gaara, noticing he hasn’t surfaced yet. A flash of doubt crosses her mind, her grin faltering—she hasn’t just drowned the Kazekage, right?

“Gaara...?” she calls, attempting to spot him through the water. Nothing. She searches, trying her best to find even the tiniest hint of red. “Gaara!” Shit. She dives, legs thrusting her forward, gaze locking onto his floating form. Her hands reach for his, and she’s surprised to see him staring straight at her. His eyes appear to glow beneath the shimmering of waves, the vibrant red of his hair dulled by the swallowing azure—it’s like seeing him for the first time, graceful features laid bare by rays of blue, and she has to remind herself this is _Gaara_. It’s too late when she realises she’s fallen for his trap, line, hook and sinker. His hands wrap around her shoulders, using her to push himself up, forcing her further down in the process. She thrashes in response, hoping to catch up with him—to no avail. She’s gasping for air when she finally does, the water’s surface breaking against her face, plastering her hair to her skin.

Her eyes find his across the tide, her cheeks puffed up in chagrin. “I can’t believe you did that!”

He’s laughing—actually laughing at her shock, hair equally drenched and ridiculous.

She grins despite herself, muttering: “you complete asshole,” shooting a wave of water in his direction. He braces against it, but it still manages to wash over him with a satisfying splash.

“You’re the one who started it with the attempt on my life,” he replies, pushing his hair from his eyes and messing it up in the process. Despite the lake’s cool, her shoulders are hot where he touched, and part of her wishes for more. It’s a dangerous want, and she feels the grin dry from her face, eyes turning to their abandoned boat.

“I suppose that makes us even,” she starts, feet kicking against the waves, “now it’s your turn row.”

She’s the first to wrap her hands around the side, trying to lift herself across, limbs slippery. He follows in the corner of her eye, and she can’t resist giving him another playful shove, laughing at his look of shock as he plunges. She uses the opportunity to lift herself aboard, crawling into her seat. He’s spluttering as he reemerges, hands wiping at his eyes—it still surprises her to see the rings of black stay perfectly put—until he pauses. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, wondering if perhaps she went too far, when he lifts out of the water, stepping off a plateau of mud and into the boat with her.

“You cheat!” she gasps, watching the water drip from him, leaving marks across the wood.

His eyes lift to her face, lips already parted when he freezes, the pale skin of his face quickly matching his hair, gaze flicking to the side in the process.

She snorts at the sight, certain it’s the deepest she’s ever seen him blush, when she realises _she’s_ the cause. She looks down, takes in the state of her shirt, and quickly wraps her arms around herself—because of course she had to wear her brightest, flashiest bra that day! “Oh god,” she laughs, feeling like a complete idiot, surprised to see him taking off his shirt. She’s stunned to silence, unable to look away despite the burning of her own cheeks.

“Here,” he says, handing it over, eyes still averted.

She accepts the soaked fabric,mumbling a soft ‘thank you’ as she removes her own, replacing it with his. Though they’re not too far apart in height, it’s still loose around her frame, its shoulders halfway down her biceps. “There,” she says, clearing her throat, “better?”

He turns to look at her, sincere in seizing her up. “Almost,” he mutters then, leaning closer, gaze focused on her features.

“What?” She’s breathless as he reaches for her face, fingers wiping at her cheeks, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. She blinks as she tries to force the air out of her lungs, eyes darting across his calm expression, trailing along his slightly parted lips. She feels herself lean in his direction as he retreats, as if her body protests the growing distance.

“Better.” He smiles, and she sees him wash what appears to be make-up off his fingers. Right—she could have known her mascara wasn’t water-proof. She’s tongue-tied as she watches him reach for the paddles, her fingers trailing the places his have been. She’s wise enough to busy herself with her hair instead, hoping he hasn’t noticed, digits sliding through slick strands. She’s unsure what to say next, her arms wrapping around herself, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt crinkle beneath their press. There’s a flutter of something at the reminder, her gaze flicking to his calm features as he rows.

She watches as his arms repeat the motions, the muscles beneath his skin flexing with every push and pull. He’s more toned than she would have expected, his shoulders and back well-developed despite his lack of physical combat. She supposes the gourd he used to carry could be to blame, her gaze trailing every carved line of his physique, down to his abdomen, the sharp contours of his hips drawing in her attention—until she realises what she’s doing. She rips her eyes away, blood flooding her face again, pounding in her ears. She busies herself with his shirt, fumbling with its fabric, gaze focused on her hands. Still there’s a lingering heat inside her, a want begging her to get near, to feel every of his muscles ripple beneath her palm. She bites her lip instead, daring another glance in his direction, noticing he’s watching her.

She finds herself releasing a nervous chuckle, averting her gaze. “Guess I’m lucky you listened to my clothing advise.”

There’s a silence, interrupted by the continuous slosh as he rows, the sound of wood grating against wood filling her mind with his image. “Suppose you are,” he rumbles, her heart jumping in response. She continues her fumbling, trying not to let her nerves show—after all, there’s a hankering inside her she thinks dangerously close to attraction, and it fuels a desire she’s spent years trying to suppress. For what is the use of lust without reciprocation, or even a person to divvy her needs onto? Still, there’s no saying any of her wants might be mutual, and she finds herself daring another glance at her companion, wondering if she alone’s alone in what she feels. His features betray not a single answer, but there’s a luster in his gaze she could easily mistake for admiration, and she supposes, for now, that’s enough for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt I needed to split this chapter into two parts, just to fit with the structure of the story. I know it took me a long time to update, to be honest I have been very sick. Joint inflammation kept me from typing for a while (as well as pretty much anything else), since I could hardly move my fingers, and then I developed pneumonia along with a pleural infection. Doctors didn’t want to help me because they suspected corona virus, thus deeming me a threat. I was forced to get tested and lucky for me the results were negative. Still, I went through a lot of suffering simply because they gave me no medicine, not until my mom got angry and kept insisting. I’ve been getting better since, even the joint inflammation has gone, and I’m hoping it’ll stay that way. Sadly there’s no telling since I haven’t been examined for any other causes aside from covid, since, you know, apparently that’s the only illness out there nowadays. I want to thank you all for your comments and reviews, hope you’re all doing better than me! Also get ready for next chapter because it’s cuuuuuuuuuuuute.


	7. Most precious thing

A cooling breeze caresses her skin, turns the sun’s glare into a soothing warmth, evaporating the remaining water from her figure. There’s a tree she suggests they pause under, her shirt thrown across one of its branches in hopes of it drying. They sit shoulder to shoulder, the lake before them sparkling beneath the afternoon glow. She smiles despite herself, raising her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, fingers curling against her skin. There’s peace in the rustle of leaves, the smell of wet earth and fresh grass—but also in the presence of her companion, the scent of him now draped across her shoulders, lingering on his shirt.

“Sorry you have to walk around half-naked.” She turns toward him, watching as his fingers trail through the sand, his gaze following the motions.

“It’s fine.” Her eyes travel him, comparing his skin-tone to her own, wondering who might be paler.

“Oh!” She sits a little straighter, hand shooting to her pocket. “I’ve brought sunscreen if you need any.”

He meets her gaze, limb halting its movement. “No thanks,” he shakes his head, then closes his eyes. She watches as fine particles of dust float through the air, drawn to his skin and assembling into an invisible layer. She leans a little closer, squinting as she tries to find any trace. Curiously, she runs a finger down his arm, surprised not to feel a single grain.

“It’s like it’s not even there,” she notes, mesmerised.

“That’s because it’s minerals, they’re lighter and smaller than sand.”

Her lips part, mouth shaped like an ‘o’, large eyes noticing the slight sheen when he moves. “Is that why you’re so soft?”

His eyes bulge, darting in several directions before returning to her face, frowning. “What?”

“Your skin,” she chuckles, “it’s the softest I’ve ever felt!” He continues his staring, deepening frown drawing creases—as if wondering whether that’s a bad thing. “Could you do me too?” she quickly adds, hoping to appease him.

His face goes red again. “I-I really shouldn’t,” he stammers, giving her pause.

She leans back, considering his reaction, her hand twisting into the grass. “You don’t feel through the sand, do you?”

He turns even redder. “No,” he admits, “only when I move it.”

She feels her smile deepen at his demeanour, a warmth blooming in her chest. “Alright,” she compromises, nudging him with her shoulder, “just my face then—if you’re fine with that.”

His gaze darts between the ground and her, one of his hands rubbing at his cheek, wrapping around the back of his neck. “Okay,” he concedes, taking a small breath. Again there’s a fine trail of dust in the air, and looking closer she notices its glimmer, carrying a slightly greyish tone. Its hardly noticeable as it moulds against her skin, though it does appear to have a cooling effect. She closes her eyes, enjoys the featherlight caress of him, thinks she could almost imagine it being his hands instead, dusting across her every feature. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, yet can’t bring herself to rebuke for enjoying. Too soon it’s over, her eyes fluttering open to meet his, releasing a contented sigh. She smiles, biting her lip, feeling more seen than she ever has, and doubtful she’d mind him knowing every angle of her.

“You can do the most amazing things, Gaara,” she grins, fingers touching her cheek, recognising the same softness she’s felt on his.

“You think so?”

She’s surprised by his own reluctance, his gaze following the lake’s current. “Absolutely. I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be.” He looks her in the eye, expression unreadable.

She parts her lips, yet isn’t sure what to say. She watches as he leans forward, pressing his hands to the ground, and she wonders what for. “Why not?” she finally asks, studying his features.

“You have too many talents to be jealous of anyone else’s,” he says, so casually she has to wonder if he has any idea how much the words mean to her—how relieving it is to hear someone like him say them. His eyes shoot to the ground then, and there’s a slight smile on his lips.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, instead meets her gaze expectantly, waiting it seems...

“Gaara!” she gasps, a hand shooting to cover her mouth, eyes darting every which way; it’s everywhere, glimmers in the atmosphere, refracts the sun into airborne stars. It surrounds him like a glittering mist, casts tiny dots of light across his features. “Is that _gold_?” She can hardly believe what she sees as a stream of it collects in the palm of his hand. His eyes crinkle, but he makes no move to reply, instead closes his fingers around the valuable minerals. She leans closer, tries to peer through his hold, but he keeps whatever he’s doing well-hidden. Then, after what feels like an eternity influenced by a racing heart and dry mouth, his fingers open up, revealing within their grasp a detailed cherry blossom. Wordlessly, he offers it, raises the beautiful sculpture for her to take. She shakes her head, unable to rhyme within her mind the possibility of him gifting her such a precious thing. But he does, and her heart soars a little higher for it.

“I could kiss you right now,” she mutters as she accepts the crafted treasure, blinking away the elation fogging her eyes.

“Please don’t,” he says, and she looks up in surprise, a weight on her chest. “I don’t think my heart could take another palpitation.”

She laughs, sends him an affectionate grin, then leans in, pecking him on the cheek. “There,” she says, sitting back, “that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

Though there’s a subtle dusting of pink on his cheeks, he appears relatively calm. “You’re ruining me.”

“And you me!” she rebuts with a snort. “You can’t go around giving gold to girls—especially not shirtless.”

He props his elbow against his knee, resting his cheek against his knuckles, raising his brows. “Why not?”

“Because-“ she starts, but pauses, smile faltering. Because what? Because she can’t deny the obvious pull of attraction he evokes? Or, maybe, because she knows this tiny blossom to be the most precious thing she’s ever received? She looks away, suddenly out of air, her gaze returning to the sculpture in her hand. She clears her throat, musters another smile. “I had no idea you could do that.”

He remains silent for a little while longer, before his voice punctuates the air with its baritone presence. “I save it for surprise attacks.”

She nods, squinting at his handiwork, admiring its detail. “Still, I’ve never seen you use it.”

“I don’t like to,” he admits then.

She looks up, frowns, searches his gaze for something she knows won’t be so easily found. “Why?”

He averts his eyes, returns to trailing the earth beneath. “It’s inherited.”

“A bloodline limit?”

He nods. “Magnet release.”

She’s heard of the ability, remembers reading about it somewhere. “The signature technique of the Yondaime Kazekage,” she muses aloud, brought to wonder why his father should evoke such aversion. Then, remembering Chiyo: “he ordered the sealing of Shukaku.”

He doesn’t look up at the observation. “I’ve forgiven him for the choices he’s made. As a child, I wasn’t always able to recognise him prioritising the well-being of the village above all. As a Kage, I’ve come to understand his cause much better.”

There’s a bitterness on her tongue, a weight deepening her frown. “Condemning a child to a lifetime of alienation has nothing to do with prioritising the village,” she snaps, “as a father his love for you should have weighed stronger—as a father, he should have found another way.”

He blinks, closes his eyes, then sighs. “It’s easy for us to reject outdated customs and beliefs with the advantages of hindsight.”

She knows he’s right, knows she used to be no better than those she now criticises, still she’s unable to acquiesce the idea of ever making such a decision herself. “Could be,” she concedes, raising her chin, “still there’s no fault in acknowledging his failure as a father, or that you deserved better than the scars he’s left.”

Despite the ugly truth of it all, there’s a smile dawning on his lips, his gaze meeting hers. “I’d hope so.”

* * *

The day’s coming to a close, despite her wishing her hardest for it not to be so. She insists he joins her at her favourite restaurant, maintaining it’s far better than Ichiraku despite what Naruto might have claimed. He agrees, and though she’d previously felt relieved at this not being a date, part of her can’t help but wish it was. The golden petals of her cherry blossom cool her skin, dangling elegantly from her neck, resting against the beat of her heart like the touch of his fingers once. She’s back in her own shirt and he in his, long since dried by the sun—though she misses the scent of him against her, especially since he’ll be gone tomorrow. She braces herself for the truth, convinced they’ll see each other again, sometime, surely. In three days time, she’s come to care deeply for her redheaded friend who she’s only regarded as such for two.

In the depths of his eye, she at times catches a similar fondness she’s sure wasn’t there before, and the thought of it helps thaw the neglected part of her that’s long since lost its ardor. And in its fuelling, she fires question after question, unable to quench her thirst for all that is him. What’s his favourite food? Where does he like to go? What’s his favourite colour—and more importantly, what does he like to do? Not even the serving of their meal can bring a halt to her barrage, her smile unending as she listens to his life. Then, she’s reminded of something she should have asked sooner, forgotten in between her own exhaustion and their ever-changing plans.

“Your sand,” she starts between bites, “It moved without your chakra.”

He considers the question, frowns. “I kind of forgot,” he admits, then picks up his knife, turns it in his hold.

She eyes the gesture, thrown off by the certainty of it. “Wait,” she leans forward, gaze darting between the object and his calm expression, “what are you doing?”

He looks up, utterly serious. “Demonstrating.”

She doesn’t understand at first, not until she watches him stab at his wrist. “Oh god!” She flies forward, tries to stop him, but finds a layer of sand between the knife and his skin, shielding him from it.

“It moves beyond my control,” he explains, more matter-of-factly than the situation should merit; considering he nearly chopped off his wrist.

She breathes, hand still wrapped around his limb, heart thundering, when she feels the sand start to slither across her own. When she looks down, she notices it’s locked them together, their limbs joined by curling tendrils. This time it’s Gaara who seems taken aback, all colour drained from his face, attempting to pull away but unable to.

“I’m sorry,” he splutters, “it’s not-“

“Forehead!”

“Oh god,” Sakura slaps her remaining hand across her mouth, eyes darting towards the noise, spotting her childhood friend, waving animatedly. Beside her is Sai, who sends Sakura one of his trademark smiles. “Hey, Ino,” she replies, raising a reluctant hand in greeting, hoping they’ll move along. They don’t, instead pushing an extra table against theirs.

Ino sits down next to her, lounging in her chair as she bumps Sakura’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were close to the Kazekage!”

She releases a nervous laugh, hoping said Kage doesn’t feel the jitter of her pulse through her palm. “Actually we-“

“Woah, where’d you get this?” The blonde leans closer, fingers wrapping around the blossom of gold, eyes wide as she admires it.

“Gaara made it for me.”

“You guys!” Ino fawns, starry-eyed as she glances between them. “That’s so romantic.”

“No, no,” Sakura quickly raises her hands, shaking her head, “it’s not like that, we’re just-“

“Right,” Ino winks, and Sakura knows there’s no arguing with her now, “I too hold hands over dinner with my _friends_.”

“You do?” Sai asks.

“No darling, I’m being sarcastic,” she smiles sweetly, tipping her head.

“Well, no, you see we-“ She glances at their hands, only to find the sand has gone. She looks at Gaara, seeing he’s noticed as well, gazes locking. She isn’t sure what to do, whether she should pull back, or remain; either way, she doesn’t want him to think she’s ashamed—because she’s not, but giving her friends the wrong idea won’t do him any good. She decides on a reassuring squeeze, offering an apologetic smile as her fingers slide across his skin, releasing him.

“I’m happy for you, Ugly. It’s about time you moved on.”

Is that what her friends truly think? What they tell each other when she’s not around? There’s ice in her veins as she sits a little straighter, lips parting to speak when suddenly: “did he just call you ugly?”

Her gaze meets with Gaara’s, who looks genuinely affronted. She shakes her head, rubbing her temple as she shrugs. “It’s a nickname he once gave me, it’s fine.”

Still his eyes narrow, locking onto Sai who continues to smile. “Don’t call her that.” Something shifts in the air, a heaviness draping over them like a coming storm, and she realises it’s a sensation she‘s felt before.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” she quickly placates, ignoring the part of her that delights in Gaara’s support—she’s protested the name a million times, “it’s an old joke.”

“It’s not very funny,” he remarks, crossing his arms, exuding every bit of authority despite their casual setting.

Sai regards the redhead with interest. “What would you suggest I call her, Kazekage-sama?”

Gaara’s eyes turn to slits. “Her name.”

“Touché.” The other man‘s smile returns.

Ino takes his hand, sending Sakura an approving grin that’s far too mischievous to mean anything good. “He’s right darling, I think you should apologise.”

Sai nods, turning to the other occupants of the table. “I’m sorry, Sakura-san, Kazekage-sama. Consider the nickname discarded.”

“It was a lousy name anyway, hardly fitting,” Ino starts, eyes gleaming, and Sakura’s mouth runs dry at the sight of it, “after all, Sakura’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she?” Her smirk turns to Gaara, who’s composure deflates, leaving nothing of the intimidating presence he previously possessed.

He glances Sakura’s way, a frown between his brows, then back to Ino, expression frustratingly neutral. Sakura runs a hand across her face, resists the urge to groan at her friend’s nerve—Gaara can be painfully honest, and the last thing her ego needs is- “She is.” She perks up, cheeks flushing, eyes searching his—but there’s not a hint of malice or deceit. “The most beautiful I know.” His gaze sharpens as it turns to Sai, then to Ino. She isn’t sure what to do, fingers curled around the sculpture, feeling the throb of her heart through her skin, an excited thrill coursing through her veins. There’s a smile dawning on her lips, a warmth settling over her, melting away her worries.

“That’s quite the compliment, isn’t it, Sakura?” Ino nudges her, batting her lashes. “Coming from a handsome man.”

Sakura’s smile deepens, heart leaping at the reddening of Gaara’s features, endeared by his self-conscious nature. “Indeed,” she grins, “the most handsome I know.” And she means it, no ifs ands or buts—there’s no competing with the brilliant jade of his eyes, or the sincere warmth of his smile. “Though I’ve never seen anyone with as bad a case of bedhead,” she teases, eyes crinkling.

It earns her a chuckle, the tension draining from his posture. “At least I have hair.”

There’s laughter bubbling in her chest, the mental picture of his dream brought to mind, ridiculous enough to reduce her to giggles. An arm wraps around her shoulders, and she knows it belongs to Ino, her friend pulling her into an embrace.

“Don’t let this one go, forehead,” she whispers into her ear, “it’s good seeing you happy.” There’s an audible smile in Ino’s voice, her hand rubbing Sakura’s arm affectionately, and suddenly she realises her friend was there for her all along; she just never gave the blonde a chance, too holed up behind her own walls. “And you’ll have to tell me all about how you know about the Kazekage’s bedhead.”

She snorts at that, pulling back to look the blonde in the eye. “Trust me, it’s not as exciting a story as it seems.”

Ino tips her head, smile deepening. “Yet,” she teases, giving Sakura’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing her. The promise of it has her skin buzzing, cheeks flushing at the idea. “Darling, it’s about time we leave these two alone,” Ino announces, standing from her place. “I’m sure they’ll visit us sometime, right?” She sends Sakura a pointed look, to which she quickly nods, earning a pleased smile from the blonde.

“You’re a funny man, Kazekage-sama, you’ll have to teach me sometime.”

Gaara frowns. “I’m really not.”

Sakura snorts at his deadpan, biting her lip as she grins.

Sai eyes the both of them curiously. “I see,” he says, rubbing his chin, “very subtle. I look forward to seeing you again.” He bows to the both of them, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend.

“Bye!” Ino calls, turning away, waving. “Have fun you guys.” She winks suggestively, bringing Sakura’s face to heat.

She smiles as they leave, trying to ignore the response of her body, crossing her legs as she dares a look at her companion. He’s staring straight at her, eyes studying her curiously. He props his elbow on the table, rests his chin against his palm, and she can tell there’s a lot on his mind. She feels her pulse start to calm, the silence allowing her to contemplate. She mirrors his position, returns his studious gaze, wonders what secrets might lie beyond those pale eyes. There’s words echoing at the back of mind, but to her relief their tone’s nothing like Naruto’s reproach—no, this time it’s Ino, reminding her that, yes, she’s _happy_.

* * *

She wakes him before the nightmares start, sends a healing flow of chakra through his mind, eases any tension she finds there. It’s the final time she gets to do this, and she hopes it’s enough to break the cycle. His eyes flutter open, illuminated by the green glow of her healing. They find her, watch her curiously. She smiles down on him, and though it isn’t strictly necessary, heals whatever damage she finds in his mind, most likely left by Shukaku. When she’s done, he looks peaceful, gaze heavy-lidded with sleep. She brushes his hair to the side, fingers darting along his forehead, soaking up the cool of his skin.

“Thank you,” he croaks, and she can tell he’s fighting sleep.

Her smile warms. “You’ll have to do without me now.” She wishes _she_ didn’t, wishes he’d stay.

He’s silent, though by the light of moon she swears there’s a similiar thought in his eyes. She scoots closer, and he allows her, moves to accommodate her presence. The bed creaks beneath her weight, the blankets rustling as she slips beneath, until the only thing to break the silence is the sound of their breath. He watches her still, gaze roaming her features in the dark. She feels a little breathless, a little bold, and he makes no move to stop her when she rests her cheek on his shoulder, hand spread across his chest, feeling every rise and fall. He surprises her when he snakes his arm around her, cradling her in his embrace. It’s warm and welcoming, and she marvels at the beat of his heart beneath her palm, the press of his skin against her own.

“It’s my mother,” he says then, his voice a deep rumble in her ear, “she’s in the sand.”

She feels a smile pull at her lips, an excited flutter in her chest, humming through her limbs. “I’m glad she likes me.”

Though she can’t see his face, she can sense his answering smile, his own pulse a heavy throb. “It’s hard not to.”

She grins at the words, burrows a little closer as she closes her eyes, thinking to herself Gaara is Gaara, and somehow—after only a few days of getting to know what that means—she can‘t imagine a future without him near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part two, now on with the angst! I feel like Gaara’s magnet release was such an under-utilised feature, though it’s probably because it was only added in as an afterthought, which, fine, but at least give him some cool stuff you know, his dad‘s hella flashy with all the gold. Anyway, let me know if you like my ideas because I’m always second-guessing myself like the idiot I am. Have a great weekend and ‘till next chapter! Also check my tumblr @hirvitank for the art I made for this fic. Will probably doodle more because I’m self-indulgent like that. Thanks for the comments and reviews, they warm my heart every time!


	8. Happy living it

“Send me to Suna!”

A pause. “No.” Resolute.

She balls her fists, slams them on his desk. Growls: “I’m asking you as a friend.”

He assesses her, keeps his calm. “And I’m forbidding you, as _his_ friend.” Glares, then: “you’re not in a right state of mind, Sakura.”

“I’ll decide for myself wether I’m in a right state or not—and _he_ certainly doesn’t need your coddling.”

“I won’t involve him in what’s nothing to do with him.”

“It has everything to do with him!”

“Does it?” He narrows his eyes, sends her a pointed look, says to her all she doesn’t want to hear.

Her fingers dig into the wood, scowl deep enough to mask her doubt—what else could this pain be about? This divide of her being and vanishing of its scraps.

He releases a sigh, steels his features. “I won’t let you go. And know that if you still decide to follow through, you’ll be considered a missing nin.”

There’s ice in her veins, a chatter of her teeth. “Fine,” she sneers, clenching her jaw to hide her flaws, quickly turning on her heel.

“I can’t have you embarrassing our village, Sakura. You’re supposed to be a role-model.”

She bites her tongue, ignores his words, knows he has no idea what he’s talking about. She slams the door behind her, hardens her resolve; she’s done being a sitting duck for the men in her life, and—despite Naruto’s warnings—still decides to go.

She’s swift through the streets, doesn’t care who she passes, knows there’s no time for hellos or how’ve you beens—after all, she’s known Naruto for years, and soon there’ll be anbu tailing her. If she wants to go, she needs to do so now. She sweeps through her apartment, ignores the unmade bed, avoids the succulent that’s sure to remind her of him. There’s a cold in her limbs, a frosting in her bones, and if pushed too hard she’s certain she’d shatter. Still, she grits her teeth, shoulders her pain—like she’s always done—she’s a kunoichi after all, and she refuses her heart’s weakness. She dons her usual outfit, brings only what’s absolutely necessary. Food she rations; there won’t be much time to eat, or the hunger for it. When she catches her reflection, she hardly recognises herself in the hollow of her eyes.

* * *

The trip itself takes her three days, _three_ entire days—despite her hardly stopping to rest or eat, too paranoid Konoha’s ninja might catch up to her. At first it’s all good and easy, through thick canopy and shadow-cast forest. The hardest part starts when she enters the desert itself, the sun harsh and unavoidable. Though she’s made the trek before, on her own the heat feels more scorching. Stopping won’t do her good, she decides, the last of her water quickly poured down her throat, and despite it still left parched. At times she swears she sees him, watching her from the horizon, uncannily at home in this land of grit and bite. She imagines it’s the red of his hair, signalling her, leading her further into her self-imposed purgatory. It’s evening when she arrives, her skin burnt and blistered, heels worn to the bone. She hardly cares, doesn’t indulge the guards’ shock when they spot her.

“I’m here to see the Kazekage,” she commands, held up by the sheer purpose in her resolve.

“Um,” one of them stumbles, eyeing her, “do you have the appro-“

“I’m Haruno Sakura, and I’m here to speak to your Kazekage.”

They scramble, splutter to appease her. “Of course, Sakura-sama, excuse us, it’s just protocol dema-“

“Protocol can wait,” she snaps, crossing her arms, scowling at the both of them.

“Y-yes,” they bow, slinking back to allow her entrance, “allow us to escort y-“

“I can find my way.” She passes them, balls her fists as she walks, feels her determination flare at the sight of the village. She senses the many eyes trailing her, their whispers a tickle against her skin, a premonition down her spine. She’s an outsider here, within the midst people who know more of the life of him than she. There in their stares lies hidden the past of what’s been done. Do they think of it still, she wonders, of their leader with a son born to slay? Do they at times lie awake at night in remembrance of his cold-blood—like she does, though not his, somehow never his. She knows what it’s like to wake with fear choking your lungs, burning your throat, and she thinks, in some ways, he might too. Closer now, the entrance in plain sight, beckoning her to come, mocking her for the vitreous of her ninja heart, the folly of her bones. Still, she enters, walks the halls without a word.

“Sakura!” A flash of blonde, and she feels a pair of hands warm skin she didn’t know was cold.

“I’m here for your brother,” she croaks through the gravel of her voice.

Temari frowns, keeps pace with her, searches her for all she knows is on her sleeve. “Kankuro?”

She clenches her eyes, forces a breath. “The other one!”

“Gaara?” She can’t help the leap of her pulse, the lurch of her stomach, still pulls through by the skin of her teeth. “A-are you sure? You don’t look too good, perhaps you should see a medic first?”

“I _am_ a medic.”

“Alright, yes,” Temari raises her hands, still trying to get her to slow down, “and I’m sure this is all very important but-“

His door, and she knocks on it, three times for every day spent, then waits for him to answer.

“Sakura, hold on-“

But he opens, eyes wide as they take her in, flicking between his sister and her, asking questions he doesn’t say. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he comments, obviously unnerved.

“She says she’s here for you,” Temari says, and Sakura doesn’t miss the demanding look she sends her brother.

He nods, answers his sister through the narrowing of his eyes, then moves aside, allowing her entry. “Thank you, Temari, you can leave us.”

“Okay, but...”

“It’s fine,” he reassures, though it doesn’t appear to convince her.

Sakura steps past him, takes in the perfect state of his office—unlike Naruto’s—notices the cacti on his windowsill and fights the smile that threatens. She hears him close the door behind him, and though his presence has pacified some of her anger, she feeds into it still. She faces him, watches those beautiful features, squashes her fondness for them.

She crosses her arms, scowls. “You left without a goodbye, only a note!” There’s acid burning her throat, a throb behind her gaze.

Though his eyes widen, he quickly composes himself, smoothing his expression. “You needed the rest.”

“I needed more than a fucking note!” she snaps, feeling the poison spread, burning through her veins, blurring her vision.

He tips his head, scrutinises her. “You came here, just to say that?”

It’s in her teeth now, bares them to bite back the bile. “I’m sick of being left behind!”

“That’s no-“

“You did! Without a goodbye, without a word. You left me! You left. And I-I,” she feels herself start to choke, tears blurring her vision, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore!”

He stands, watches her crumble, sees her for the idiot she is, and despite that still moves towards her.

“Don’t,” she warns, wraps her arms around herself, clenches her eyes shut as she tries to breathe, “don’t come closer.” She thinks she’ll break if he does.

He pauses, his gaze burning into her, exposing her for her shame. “Do I remind you of him?” he then asks.

She stills, chances to meet his gaze, feels her heart wither. “Who?”

“Sasuke.”

“No,” she’s resolute, the answer instant, though her anger crumbles into the hollow of it, “not at all.”

“Good.” His eyes narrow, and she notices the clenching of his jaw, the cool of his gaze. “He’s a coward, Sakura.”

“What does he have to do with any of this?” She shakes her head, forces herself to feel anything but the chasm devouring her. 

“Apparently everything, else you wouldn’t be here.”

Cold, rough stone, wet with her tears— _he left her_. “You don’t know what he’s been through,” she argues, more to herself, to preserve what little faith hasn’t shrivelled in its neglect.

There’s a hardening of his gaze, a disbelief she doesn’t truly think unjust. “He’s had plenty of people who cared and still it wasn’t enough.”

She sucks in a breath, blinks away the truth spilling down her cheeks. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s absolutely what I think.”

“He lost everyone, he-“

“He had you!” It’s the first time she hears him raise his voice, and she shrinks at the impact of it. “You could- should have been enough.”

She shakes her head, buries the ache she knows matches his words—it’s what’s echoed through every of her tear-filled nights, where beds are stone and the moon shows no mercy for what is done.

“You _and_ Naruto, both went to the ends of the world to take him home—your entire village.”

“Of course, that’s what friends do.” That’s what love does to keep a heart from breaking, despite it being broken over and over in its fallout.

“What has he ever done to merit such devotion, except throw it right back in your face?” How has he earned your love?

She stands, stunned to silence, skull pounding, tongue tinged with the taste of her denial.

“He left you, over and over. Not I.” He does step closer now, close enough she sees the slightest hint of his tender soul, normally so well hidden. “You nearly died trying to drag him back, _everyone_ has.” Including me. Her heart seizes at the truth of it, hand shooting to cover her mouth, force back the bile she chokes on. She shakes her head, feels herself shatter beneath his words. And she knows; it’s the little things he’s broken that remake her. “And now, after everything, he’s too much of a coward to properly face those he’s hurt.”

She swallows her sense, tries still to balance the edge. “He’s righting his wrongs.”

“He’s avoiding you.” He’s merciless to the point of tipping her, the ugliness of it all staring straight back at her. “There’s no need to travel the furthest ends of the world to atone, I know all about that. It’s not about helping the unknown, it’s about rebuilding what you’ve destroyed.”

She looks up, into the eyes of a man she knows has had to do just that, and sees—contrary to what she’s grown used to—there’s no darkness there, no lingering grudge. He’s chosen the light and somehow it shines for her—for everyone—and in reaching for its glimmer, she feels her feet hit nothing but air. And then, she’s falling. “I’m sorry,” she chokes, wipes at her face, tries to cover the spilling of her heart, “I’m so, so sorry, I-“

He steps closer, wraps his arms around her, holds her as if she might break to pieces otherwise. “Don’t be.”

She twists her fingers into the red of his jacket, inhales the scent she’s come to expect. “I-I’ve made such a fool of myself,” her voice cracks, “I feel like an idiot.”

“You‘re not.”

“I just- I,” she breathes a shaky breath, presses closer to his shoulder, feels the void inside her fill, if just a little, “I’m lost inside myself-“

“I know you are.”

“-and I’m so sorry for blaming you.” She screws her eyes shut, feels the sting of regret as it paralyses her. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You haven’t.”

She shakes her head, holds onto him with all her might. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

She feels his breath caress her ear, sweep down her neck, then he speaks: “I know what it’s like to be twisted by grief—I wouldn’t want you to be alone in it.”

Like he has, she thinks, and it’s another part of his life revealed. “Still, you must think I’m crazy—coming all this way to yell at you.”

“I don’t, but,” she can hear the start of a smile in his voice, “let’s not make a habit of it.”

She laughs despite herself, the lightness of it a stark contrast to the heavy break of all she’s known—all she’s always believed she wanted. She cries for the girl she once was, the woman she is now, the woman she might have been. He runs a hand along her back, doesn’t interrupt her grief, fills her instead with the warmth of his life, the comfort of his pulse in her ear—and in her sorrow there’s the relief of him still being. She wants nothing more than to cling, capture this heart within the cradle of her hands and fill her broken chest with it. But she knows it’s not for her to take, unwraps herself from his hold and sniffles as she rubs at her burning eyes, sweeps the stains from her cheeks. 

“I should go home,” she mutters, trying to regain some of her dignity, gaze cast at her feet.

He tilts her head to meet his gaze, uses his other hand to wipe whatever tears still remain. “Stay,” he offers, her breath stuck in her throat. “At least until you’re rested.”

“I-“ she pauses, bites her lip, releases a deep breath at the mess she’s made. “Okay—you’re right.” She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear, wrapping an arm around her stomach.

“Do you need a medic?”

She looks up, then at herself, takes in her sunburnt skin. “Oh,” she waves a hand, “no, I can take care of it myself.”

He nods, turns to his desk. “Hold on,” he says, rearranging the papers there, sorting through and creating several piles.

“You don’t have to put aside your work for me, it’s fine—I’ll manage on my own,” she quickly offers.

He looks up, studies her, then continues whatever he’s doing. “It’s no issue,” he mumbles, frowning down at a particular note.

“I’d hate to be an inconvenience.”

He rubs at his eyes, and she notices how tired he looks again. “You’re not.” He soon finishes his sorting, running a hand through his already messy hair, gaze scanning his office before turning to her. “Come on,” he says, walking past her, opening the door. She obeys in silence, stepping into the hallway, feeling the sting of blisters beneath her heel. She curses at the reminder, sends a pulse of chakra through her system, closing her eyes as she focuses on undoing the damage of her journey. It takes her a minute, and when she reopens her eyes, she catches him staring.

“Told you there was no reason to be jealous,” he comments, just like that, starting into a walk.

She follows, smiling to herself, smoothing down her hair, then her shirt, watching him from the corner of her eye. Her anger has melted, and in its place is the weight of her sadness, sinking her heart deeper. But it’s familiar, at the very least, and it leaves plenty of room for thought—and thoughts she has plenty. Like how knowing _he’d_ gone was worse, broke her into two and took her other half with him—and now, with him here, she’s less a hulk than she’s been these past months. She knows it’s wrong, reprimands herself for losing her heart in his arms, but what’s done is done, and all she has to remind herself of is that he’s not _him_. So, she eases her mind, allows herself to relax, accept his kindness. She has no idea where they’ll go from here, but at least being left behind isn’t a part of it—not this time.

“Well,” Temari’s voice reaches her, “you look a lot better.”

Her eyes lock onto the blonde, leaning against a wall, arms crossed. She feels her face heat, runs a hand down her cheek.

“She’ll be staying with us,” Gaara announces, not slowing his walk.

Temari hums in approval, pushing off the wall with a smirk, falling into step with them. “If that means you’ll leave your office.”

He doesn’t reply, though he does frown.

“I already told him I don’t mean to impose,” Sakura quickly adds, eyes shooting between the siblings.

Temari chuckles at that, grinning in her direction. “Impose all you like—anything to get my little brother to socialise.”

She smiles, finding it easy to see why Shikamaru likes her so much. 

“Temari, you hardly go out yourself.”

The blonde splutters, propping her hands on her hips. “That’s because someone has to take care of you!”

He frowns, opening the door, allowing them to exit the building. “I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re a spoilt brat.” She sticks out her tongue, then winks in Sakura’s direction. “So how long will you be staying?”

She’s taken aback by the shift of attention, swallows as she grapples for an answer. “Actually...”

“You can stay as long as you like,” Gaara says, as if he doesn’t have to upend his entire schedule to fit her reckless decision.

“Oh, I can take you to our spa,” Temari lays a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her, and she’s surprised by her familiarity, “have some girl-time!”

She smiles, meeting the blonde’s gaze. “That sounds lovely, I’d like that.”

“We can talk about hair, and boys, and periods—I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Gaara sends his sister a disturbed look, causing Sakura to burst out laughing, grabbing his arm as she grins up at him. “Don’t worry Gaara, we can talk boys and periods too if you want.”

Temari snorts, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, eyeing her brother as he blinks, then smooths his expression.

“Sure,” he says, closing his eyes, “if that means I’ll understand Temari’s mood swings.”

“You’re one to talk!” The blonde narrows her eyes. “I remember two weeks ago you left Kanku-“

“Have you eaten anything, Sakura?” He meets her gaze, and the way her heart thuds reminds her she’s still holding him.

“No, actually,” she admits, suddenly aware of the pangs in her stomach.

“Then let’s get you something,” he says, ignoring his sister’s miffed expression.

They pass through busy streets, only now brought to the eye with the douse of her temper. She watches people interact, laugh at an inside joke, sneak glances at their leader—it’s peace and it’s amiable, and somehow she feels right at home between these happy faces. They take her to a food stand, order what they promise is the best in Suna; the scent alone is promise enough. She helps carry their bags, happy to give her hands something to do, and soon they reach their destination. It’s large and slightly daunting, looming over her in its grandeur. They go through the door and up the steps, and her first impression is of how empty every room appears—unlike the home of her parents, where knickknacks litter the area—there’s hardly anything personal here.

That is, until they enter a small sitting room. Here, she can see the house is actually lived in, cluttered by scrolls, puppet parts and even photographs. At the far side, Kankuro lounges on a couch, startled by their entrance, hair tousled by sleep—she can see it’s a family thing.

“Oh, hey guys,” he slurs as he rights himself, face-paint smudged on one side. Then, eyes locking onto her, he freezes. “Oh! Sakura-san.” He quickly smooths down his clothing, sends her an apologetic grin. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“We can see that.” Temari raises a brow, moves to clear a nearby table. “Help me with the dishes, would you?”

He shoots up, saluting her with a ‘yes captain’ before heading to another room. Sakura smiles at the interaction, placing her bags on the table, allowing her eyes to wander. It’s cosy here, within these walls of beige, charming in its unpolished state; traces of life lingering in every corner. Her eyes find the photographs again, a smile curving her lips at a picture of the three of them. There’s many more, of Temari and Kankuro, red-cheeked and mischievous as children. Also of a woman, who bears a striking resemblance to the eldest sibling, and who she assumes is their mother—it’s strange, seeing her face, and though she hasn’t been told explicitly, she thinks it’s safe to assume she’s long passed. She’s been wondering what Gaara meant, but, looking at her picture, she thinks she knows—she’s certain she’s felt that smile, met those eyes, as if lingering in the air around him.

She helps unpack the food, smiles as she watches Kankuro stumble—probably still dizzy from sleep—then Temari’s exasperated frown, shaking her head as she follows behind. She’s offered a seat, and she feels her smile widen when Gaara joins, sitting down next to her as he passes them their drinks. Watching them all, she enjoys the normalcy of it, feeling lucky to get to join their little family, if only for a night. She sneaks glances as they serve the food, admires him in silence, through batted lashes and easy smiles. Her heart tells her things her mind doesn’t wish to know, yet does, fills her with the idea that this is what coming home must feel like.

“So what brings you here, Sakura-san?” Kankuro asks through a mouthful of food, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Don’t be a pig,” Temari scolds him, slapping his arm, chopsticks in hand.

“Well...” she starts, unsure what to tell them, certain sharing her meltdown won’t do her any favours.

“I forgot something,” Gaara cuts in, allowing her to breathe a little easier.

“Must have been important,” Temari notes, eyes flicking between the both of them.

“Indeed.” Gaara meets her stare, both refusing to break eye-contact.

“That’s what you get for going to Konoha without us,” Kankuro points out, “you see, Temari never forgets a thing—especially when it invo-“

“What, and have you piss off yet another girl, like last time?”

“Hey now, that was all a misunderstanding!”

“You invited her to our hotel!”

“Gaara wasn’t using the bed anyway.”

“You’re such a pig, Kankuro!”

“Nothing happened, so what’s the big deal?”

“You’re setting a horrible example.”

“To whom?”

“Your little brother!”

“I’m not a child.”

“Well you better not follow Kankuro’s example.” Her eyes dart between the both of them again, and Sakura has a feeling she’s coming to her own conclusions.

“Come on now, Tem,” Kankuro tries to placate her, “Gaara’s not like that, right Sakura-san?”

“W-what?” she splutters, nearly choking on her food, feeling her cheeks heat.

“ _Yet_!” Temari points an accusatory chopstick at the puppet master. “But you’re going to have to take responsibility once I’m gone.”

Kankuro sends her a sour look. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions—he’s Kazekage.”

“Kazekage or not, you’ll be the eldest so it’s your job to look after him.”

Sakura turns to Gaara, finds him looking at her, elbow propped on the table and chin resting against his hand. He sends her an apologetic smile, though there’s humour in it too, and she chuckles in response. He doesn’t seem bothered by his siblings’ bickering, instead appears to think them rather amusing—and that’s when Sakura understands, that through Temari’s stern accusations and authoritarian attitude, there’s a deep love for her brothers, and, in light of what is to come, a genuine fear of leaving them behind.

* * *

The guest room is nice, more than enough to suit her needs, yet...

“You haven’t slept, have you?” She turns to Gaara, crossing her arms to hide the thrumming of her heart.

He meets her gaze, leans against the doorpost, catches the light in a way that has her breathless. “No.”

She raises her chin, simulates confidence. “Why?”

He mirrors her pose, studies her features, then averts his gaze. “I didn’t like the idea of sleeping alone.”

She takes a step towards him, lays a hand on his, and musters her courage. “Then let’s go to _your_ room.”

He looks to where she touches him, turns his hand in her hold, then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats, smiling, trying not to let her relief show. He leads, takes her further down the hall, past more doors and around several corners. It’s a surprisingly far walk, and she wonders if they all sleep in this part—but the absence of sound has her suspect they don’t, makes her think perhaps they dreaded the idea of their brother ever sleeping. She knows it’s a reasonable fear; he’s told her enough to justify such. Still, it has her wondering why—after Shukaku’s extraction—he hasn’t moved. They reach another door, and her pulse quickens when he moves to open it, a mixture of excitement and curiosity coursing through her. He gestures for her to enter first, holds it as he waits. She doesn’t need much convincing, steps inside without hesitation, feels her breath stop at what she sees.

It’s small, smaller than she’d expected in a house this large, for a man with his status—then again, he’s a notorious insomniac, so having a large room wouldn’t fit him either. The size, however, isn’t what gives her pause. Instead it’s the abundance of plants, coupled with their scent; creosote the most familiar of all. It’s like stepping inside him, as if he clings to the very air, embraces her with every breath. She turns to him, smiles, feels closer than ever before, and revels in the sensation.

“I love it,” she says, takes another excited look around, marvels at the variety of life, shades of green, and thinks she could spend days just appreciating all he’s cultivated. He watches her with a smile, the red of him strangely at home in this ocean of green, colouring beautifully against the leafy backdrop—like a flower, she thinks, like her.

“It gives me something to do,” he says, eyes darting across the room, and she can tell there are thoughts there, memories perhaps.

She looks at the bed, bathed in moonlight, its sheets perfectly straight and its pillow showing not a single sign of wear. Then remembers she packed light—too light. “I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” she admits, biting her lip, shifting her weight.

He chuckles, surprising her. “You must have been in a hurry,” he teases, and she feels her face heat at the truth of it. He moves past her, opens a drawer, picks several items and offers them to her. “I could also ask Temari, if you’d prefer.”

“No!” She’s quick to accept the bundle, not keen on having to explain anything to the blonde. “This is perfect, thank you.”

He nods, points to a door she hadn’t noticed. “Bathroom’s over there.”

They both get ready, and Sakura relishes the feel of his clothes against her skin, appreciates their clean scent and large fit. She likes the novelty of it, the feeling of being someone close to him. She climbs onto his bed, admires the view from the many windows, watches him return with bated breath. He switches off the lights, leaves them in the glow of the moon, enveloping all in rays of silver. She smiles as he joins her, feels the pitter-patter of her heart at his touch, warming parts of her invisible to the eye. They melt straight into comfort—as if it’s something they’ve had years to master, instead of new to them both. Thinks if life could stay like this she’d be happy living it. But there are ghosts in her closet she knows need airing out, and so, she takes a breath, rests her head on his shoulder.

“Do you think me foolish, loving someone who doesn’t want me to?”

She can hear the beat of his heart, the air in his lungs. He runs a finger through her hair, brushes it from her face. “No,” he says, his voice a rumble in her ear. “Sometimes it’s those who don’t want it who need it the most.”

She doesn’t think it’s love, not anymore, but how could she find the means to explain? How could she bring into words the obligation it’s become, the growing expectation she’ll be there? It’s years of fighting, sacrificing and risking lives that feel justified only by her love—so what’s left once she decides it’s not what she wanted? Does she owe Sasuke, or Naruto for that matter, anything?

“What if I don’t want it, either?” She turns to look up at him, tries to see into his eyes. “What if I‘m just too afraid of breaking the mould of who I’ve always been?”

He meets her gaze, frowns, then looks away. “You’re always allowed to grow from who you’ve been, and anyone opposed doesn’t love you as much as they love the idea of you.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue now, close to dropping off if she isn’t careful—but she reins it in before it has the chance, instead opts for her other problem. “I might be in trouble when I go back home,” she admits, feeling the weight of it return, “Naruto forbade me to go.”

This surprises him, she can tell, and he searches her for answers. “Why?”

She takes a deep breath, traces a finger along the fabric of his shirt. “He thinks I’ll end up hurting you.”

His frown deepens, creating creases she wishes she could smooth away. “It’s nice of him to consider my feelings, but it’s neither his responsibility nor place.” He pauses, then: “I’ll contact him tomorrow—tell him you’ll get to decide what you want to do next.”

It’s liberating, lifts whatever worries remained, and in its relief she dares admit what she wouldn’t otherwise. “I don’t want to go.”

“Then stay,” he’s sincere in his suggestion, “I…” he pauses, and she hears the heavy throb of his heart, feels it beneath her palm. “I’d like you to.”

She smiles, pulls herself a little closer, nestles into the safety of him. “Then I’ll stay,” she whispers, closes her eyes, listens to the flutter of his pulse, and embraces whoever she’ll become after tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't too bad, right? I always like to think about how experiences shape our behaviours, be they subconscious or not, and I do feel like Sakura has a lot of hurt to work through before she could ever move forward. I also want to make it very clear that I do not intend to bash Sasuke or his choices, I feel he's a very complex character who reacts to pain in a different way than some might. Looking at him through Gaara's perspective, I see two very distinctly different people, and I truly think it'd be very hard for them to understand each other--despite their obvious similarities! The only thing Gaara ever wanted was someone to care about him, to not be alone--contrary to Sasuke who had plenty of people caring about him, but decided to push them all away, too damaged by grief to open his heart to anything but the avenging of all he's lost. Gaara had an entire village who hated and feared him, while Sasuke didn't, in fact he was admired by plenty. They solve problems in completely different ways; where Gaara is head on in facing his mistakes, deciding the only way to better the Ninja world is through himself and his actions, Sasuke rejects everything and everyone around him, deciding that the only way to fix things is to destroy them first. Their characters feel like such opposites, that I find it hard to imagine them every fully understanding each other--I think Sasuke thinks Gaara's choices are foolish, the same way Gaara would think his are. So, that's the mindset behind Gaara's opinions. Let me know what you think about this matter!


	9. Of intimacy between

She stirs when she feels movement, eyes fluttering. There’s moonlight streaming in, bouncing off of leaves and cabinets, reminding her where she is. She sees him when she turns, seated next to her, outlined in silver. He notices her waking, meets her gaze, eyes aglow in the dark. She can sense his disquiet, written in fine lines casting shadows—a bad dream, perhaps? She doesn’t speak, instead lifts her head, turns, and rests it in his lap. Offering him a smile, she takes a deep breath, feels it in her lungs. He studies her, like he’s done many times before, always observing. She’s surprised when he touches her, gently parts her hair. She tries to hide the shiver running down her spine, forces herself to maintain eye-contact, watches the passing of thought within his gaze. His lips part, and she finds herself drawn to the shape of them, the slightest glint of teeth catching her attention.

“Why do you trust me?” he asks, fingers running down the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheek.

Her eyes flick between his, wishing she could unearth every concern buried beneath. “I don’t know,” she breathes truthfully, hands folded atop her chest, sheltering the pitter-patter of her pulse, “just something about you.” Something familiar. Her eyes travel the structure of him, take in every detail, then reach that scar, etched deep enough to remain a bright red—like blood. She lifts a hand, observes the quick movement of his eyes, reaches for its jagged pattern. She allows her fingers to travel along its grooves, trace its edges. There’s pain there, soaking into her skin like pinpricks. “You see me,” she reasons, wishing she could reach through and into the being of him, touch his byzantine soul and soothe it.

“I’ve hurt a lot of people.” It’s a statement, nothing less. “You among them.”

She can tell it gnaws at him, eats tender thoughts when given the chance. “You’ve helped me more times than you’ve hurt me.” She’s been hurt before, by people closer than he—though they feel miles away now.

He takes in her answer, digests it before speaking again. “There’s many things I wish I could take back.”

She sees it then, like she did in his office, feels herself welcomed beneath his skin. She takes his hand, keeps it pressed to her face, watches shadows cling to his features. “You were a child.” She can feel his breath, senses the slight tremor of it. He closes his eyes, hides whatever passes behind marks of black—reminders of what he used to be, what part of him will always be. “Either way, you’ve earned your forgiveness.” She smiles, squeezes his limb, feels confident saying these things knowing what she knows. He opens his eyes, studies her in return, and she sees herself reflected within pools of jade.

“Thank you,” he answers, though in the following silence she can tell he’s between moments—lost somewhere she can’t follow.

She wets her lips, gathers the courage to push closer. “What are you thinking about?”

He seems surprised, at first, uncertainty flashing across his features. She wonders briefly if she’s overstepped, their friendship new and still lacking any real barriers. Then, his shoulders slump, a weary smile on his lips. “I tend to go astray in the silence; nothing but my own thoughts to occupy my mind. I still have to get used to it at times.” Though she doesn’t say, she thinks she knows a little what that’s like, sometimes lost with her inner voice gone, her every thought unanswered.

“If it helps, you can always talk to me.”

“It does,” he admits, resting his head against the wall, “and it doesn’t.”

There’s a nervous jitter beneath her skin, itching, restless. She doesn’t know if she wants to ask or not, isn’t sure she’s ready for whatever answer might follow. Still, she braces herself, tightens her grip around his hand. “Why?”

He smiles, but she can tell it’s self-deprecating as he averts his gaze, studies the room instead. “I’ll miss you.”

She isn’t sure what she feels, what to make of the shudder in her breath, or the blooming of energy—how she’ll sleep again is beyond her. She wants to tell him he won’t have to, wishes she could afford such a promise. But she’s a guest in foreign territory, and she’d be silly to think she could fit right into this life, this existence she’s only just gotten to experience. So she doesn’t speak, too afraid of making promises she can’t keep, offering a fond smile instead, relieved to see it’s comfort enough, for now.

* * *

“Eh, no fair Temari. Why do you get the first day with Sakura-san?”

“Because, you ill-mannered idiot, that’s how calling dibs works,” Temari says, sending her brother a look of disgust.

“You can’t-“

“Swallow before you speak!”

Kankuro slumps in his chair, grumbling as he continues shovelling down his breakfast, narrowed gaze still pointed at his sister.

“Besides, I’m sure she could use a spa day after traveling here.”

Sakura smiles at that, nodding eagerly. “It sounds lovely.”

Temari’s smirk turns into an excited grin, her features lighting up. “It’s amazing, I go every week—it helps me survive these two.” She nods at either brother, receiving offended looks on both sides.

“What did I do?” Gaara frowns, food paused mid-air.

“You’re a work-a-holic insomniac who’s going to end up a perpetual bachelor if you go on like this—I have my reasons to worry.” Gaara’s frown only deepens, lips parting to further protest her claim when she cuts him off. “Sakura’s the first girl you’ve ever taken home, and she had to cross a desert and storm your office to get an invite.”

Kankuro bursts out laughing, only to receive a sharp look from the blonde.

“Don’t think you’re any better—you’re never going to find a decent partner whoring around.”

“Gee, Tem,” Kankuro grouses, “in front of the guest too.”

“Better she knows the truth.”

Sakura chuckles at the puppet-master’s disgruntlement, his breakfast momentarily forgotten.

“I refuse to let the both of you turn this home into a complete man-cave.” Temari crosses her arms, eyeing her brothers. “Best the two of you learn something from Sakura’s visit, since you never listen to anything _I_ say.”

“I’d love to—but how am I supposed to when you’re calling dibs?” Kankuro whines.

Temari narrows her eyes, finishing her bite before pointedly speaking: “I wouldn’t throw her to the lions on her first day.”

“She’s Gaara’s guest anyway, doesn’t he get any say?”

“Sakura is free to decide for herself.”

“Gaara makes a fair point.” Temari nods.

All eyes turn to her, and she can feel the blood rushing to her face. “I think Temari’s right,” she says quickly, feeling a smile pull at her lips. “A day of relaxing will do me good.”

“Then it’s settled!” the blonde cheers, taking another large bite as she smirks at her brother.

Sakura’s gaze finds Gaara’s, feeling her smile deepen, happy to think no matter where she goes during the day, he’ll be there at the end of it.

* * *

Though it’s still early, already the heat has her breathless. Both unaccustomed and unprepared, she finds herself throwing jealous glances at her company; the blonde looking perfectly at home in this unforgiving climate. Thankfully, the spa isn’t far, and during their walk she can sense the respect people have for Temari—it’s evident in their many greetings and polite bows, in the simple way they light up when she passes. Smiling to herself, Sakura watches as the other woman addresses the personnel with familiarity, and before she knows it they’re led down a hallway filled with herbal fragrances. They’re handed a set of towels and robes, as well as something to wear on their feet, before being directed into a changing area. There they undress, each taking a quick shower before wrapping themselves in a towel. The water alone is relief to Sakura’s skin, feeling the morning heat wash off. Refreshed and reawakened, she feels more like herself.

When she emerges, she finds Temari waiting, a bucket of what appears to be mud beside her. “Now comes the fun part,” the blonde says, scooping two handfuls of the dark substance, lathering her arms, shoulders, face and eventually her entire body. Albeit a bit shyly, Sakura follows her example, allowing the towel to slip from her frame. Soon, they’re both covered heads to toes, and though she’s still very naked, Sakura feels less exposed behind her layer of mud—the blush staining her cheeks rendered invisible. Temari takes her to a small room, where two benches are hewn from the walls, decorated in intricate mosaic. It’s beautiful, and she doesn’t even notice the brightly coloured drink she’s handed until it touches her arm.

“Oh, thanks,” she smiles, accepting the cold glass.

“It won’t help keeping you hydrated, but it’ll definitely help you relax.” Temari winks, settling on one of the benches.

Sakura follows, sitting down opposite of her as she sips her beverage, surprised to taste alcohol. Still, it’s deliciously refreshing as it sweeps over her tongue, tasting of fruits she isn’t sure she’s ever had before—assuming it’s made of such.

“The mud needs some time to dry before the steaming period starts,” Temari explains, “then it’s important we take in plenty of water.”

Sakura nods, smiling into her drink as she leans against the wall, enjoying the rich scents surrounding her. “This is so different from Konoha’s bathhouses,” she admits, allowing her eyes to travel her mud-covered body.

Temari releases a gentle laugh, taking a quick sip before commenting: “lots of water you guys have.”

Sakura chuckles in response, thinking of how true that is, how humid their summers are and how refreshing their lakes—how nice it is to take a swim with the right red-headed company. She crosses her legs, fingers finding the small necklace she hasn’t taken off since.

Temari continues talking, filling the silence between them and leaving no room for awkwardness—for which Sakura is grateful. “I’ll definitely miss this once I move, though I’ll still be able to go during my visits.”

She chews her lip, empathises with the blonde before her; she’s wondered what it’d be like, too. In fact, the closer she gets to Gaara, the more she wonders if she could do it: abandon Konoha, her home. “Must be difficult, leaving everything behind.”

Temari nods, staring into her drink, and Sakura can sense there’s plenty she doesn’t say.

“Think you’ll manage?” she dares ask, shifting in her seat, feeling as if she’s speaking for both Temari and she. “Missing your brothers?”

The blonde’s eyes shoot up, stare directly into hers, bolder than she’d expected. “You know I’m not one to beat around the bush,” she starts, causing Sakura to straighten her back, bracing herself for whatever’s to come, ”want to tell me what’s between you and Gaara?”

She’s taken aback by the directness of it, at a loss for words beneath Temari’s analytical gaze. “What do you mean?” She picks at the mud on her arm, looks down at her drink, then back at the blonde.

“Like I said before; he’s never brought anyone home.”

Sakura nods, takes a swig, feels it burn her dry throat. “We’re friends.”

Temari tips her head, the corner of her lips lifting. “Just friends, huh.” Though there’s no accusation in her tone, it’s still strangely rhetorical.

“Yes…” It’s then steam starts to fill the room, heating Sakura’s skin, emphasising the heavy throb of her pulse.

“Then where were you last night?”

She has to recompose herself, nearly dropping her drink as her eyes go round.“W-what?” The heat washes over her, steam sticking to her skin, forming droplets.

“I stopped by the guest room to see if you needed anything, you know, extra clothes or something.”

There’s thoughts running through her mind, too fast too grasp. “I…”

Temari leans forward, briefly takes her hand in a reassuring gesture. “I’m not here to condemn you.” She smiles, relieving some of Sakura’s tension. “No need to look so scared.”

She releases a breath, tucks a strand of muddy hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, it’s just-“

“And don’t apologise—I just want to know if you’re the reason he looks healthier than he has in years.”

There’s a surprised flutter in her chest, her eyes taking in the blonde’s earnestness. She smiles despite herself, glad to hear there’s been a notable difference; it’s what she was hoping for, after all. “I’ve been helping him sleep,” she admits, feeling increasingly confident in the other’s presence.

“He’s been sleeping?” Temari sounds more shocked than she’d expect, emphasising the severity of her brother’s insomnia.

She’s reminded of their separation—how he’d refrained from sleeping, raising concerns for when she’s bound to leave again. “Somewhat, yes.”

“That’s not why you’re here though, is it?”

Sakura pauses, taken aback by the blonde’s perceptiveness.

“Don’t worry, I understand,” Temari chuckles, “don’t think I haven’t considered throttling Shikamaru from time to time—they’re men , they can’t help it.”

Though the blonde’s cheekiness earns a laugh, there’s still a surge of guilt gnawing at her gut, reminded of her own brashness. “It truly wasn’t Gaara’s fault though, my anger, that is,” she quickly tries to rectify, shaking her head, a frown pulling at her brow. “It was my own stupidity, I-“ she falters.

“Here, have some water.”

She nods, accepts the glass, gratefully takes a drink, relieving the dry sting of her throat.

“You know, I’ll miss my family terribly—to be honest I’m not entirely sure how I’ll manage yet,” Temari says, fingers running down her own glass, following its curve. “Kankuro and I, we’ve always had to rely on each other, and well, we’ve only just gotten our little brother it feels like.” She pauses, plays with a strand of mud-covered hair, momentarily faltering in her confidence.“I’m actually really glad you’re here; I don’t have anyone else to talk to, not about this.” Though the blonde had admitted as much, Sakura still finds herself surprised, thinking it hard to believe with Temari’s outgoing personality—but that’s where she rethinks her assessment, finding there’s a shyness to her she tends to hide a bit too well. “It’s hard enough as it is on my brothers, I wouldn’t want to burden them any further, and the last thing I want for them is to be unhappy in my absence.”

Sakura inches forward, grip tightening around her glass—how would her family and friends feel if she’d decide to leave? “I’m sure they’d want you to be happy, be it here or in Konoha.”

Temari takes in her words, mulls on them before speaking in a more subdued tone: “I feel it’s my responsibility as the eldest to watch out for them, to be there when they need me—like mom would have been.”

She understands that feeling, knows what it’s like to want to protect those close to you—which is why she also knows the toll it can take on a person. “You’re not their mother though,” Sakura tries, careful in her approach. “And it’s okay to admit if you need _them_ too.” Who does _she_ need?

Temari nods, releases a shaky breath, hands balled to fists in her lap. She opens her mouth, then closes it several times, searching for words Sakura knows aren’t easy to grasp. “I love them so much,” she admits then.

Sakura smiles, confident in what she’s about to say. “They know.” She can tell from their shallow bickering, their constant fussing over each other; there’s a lot of love between these siblings, even if they might not easily admit so. “What does Shikamaru say?”

Temari releases a sigh, slumps in her seat as she takes another gulp, then says: “he’s told me he wouldn’t mind moving here—it’s just all his friends, his family, everyone lives in Konoha. Compared to me he’d have a lot more to give up. I don’t want to ask that of him.”

Sakura considers it, watching her water move within its glass. She feels like she has a lot of friends too, as well as two parents who love her—but, if she’s honest, most of her friends have moved on without her, and she doesn’t have any siblings either. “But maybe that’s why it’s more difficult; it’s just the three of you, take one away and the impact is much more significant.” She looks up, meets Temari’s gaze, watches as the blonde puffs up her cheeks before releasing another long breath.

“Please stop making so much sense.”

She chuckles at that, happy to see a smile dawn on Temari’s lips. She likes the blonde, can easily see why Shikamaru likes her too; she’s brave, beautiful, and above all she’s kind. If Temari were to stay in Suna... would Sakura feel more welcome here?

“I’d always wondered what kind of person Gaara would take an interest to,”Temari says through an amused smirk. “Somehow you make perfect sense.” She pauses, smile growing, adding a mischievous flicker to her eyes. “And you’re pretty too.”

Sakura can feel the familiar flush of her skin, warming her cheeks, the steamy air stuck in her lungs. “It’s really not like that...” she tries; after all, wasn’t it Gaara who’d said he didn’t want a relationship? Still, she’s no fool either, and she doesn’t doubt she’s the first he’s been this affectionate with; he’s hers too. Never before has she spent the night with a man, or allowed any to touch her the way he does. When she thinks about it, she’s surprised at the level of intimacy between them, going beyond any type of friendship she’s ever had.

“If that’s what you believe then you haven’t been paying attention.” Temari sits back, crosses her legs. “Either way, he’s unusually fond of you.”

Sakura manages a shy smile, sees the truth in Temari’s words. Swallowing her nerves, she hesitantly allows herself to be honest. “I’m fond of him too.” Fumbling with her necklace, she tries to muster the courage to go on. “You’re not afraid I’ll hurt him?”

Temari smiles warmly, tipping her head. “We’re always at risk of hurting each other, we shouldn’t let a fear of it come in the way of something potentially beautiful—after all, no life worth living comes without its troubles.”

She’s right, Sakura thinks, and she’s left feeling lighter in its certainty.

“Now come, let’s get this mud off.”

* * *

Temari’s comfort sticks with her throughout the day, as they shop for clothes and take their time to enjoy what Suna has to offer. Sakura thinks she can get used to their cuisine, already developing a preference for their many spices and flavours. Though she and Temari weren’t close in the past, their friendship now feels more familiar than she’d expect—perhaps it’s the blonde’s resemblance to Ino, who tends to have a similar knack for seeing right through her. Either way, Sakura enjoys her company, finding the both of them share a similar sense of humour. Temari teases her in a way she can appreciate, lightening the mood as the blonde continues hinting at something more between the Konoha kunoichi and her little brother—which, though Sakura continues to deny it, instils her with a giddiness she hasn’t felt in a long while.

And despite her continued denial, she allows Temari to talk her into buying underwear that’s slightly flashier than she’s used to, laughing as the other insists a good set of lingerie is as important as any article of clothing—be it seen or not.

“A woman should be permitted to feel beautiful,” the blonde reasons, “besides, there’s nothing better than having a fun little secret.” She winks, earning another giggle from Sakura.

“To be honest, the idea does make me feel…” she hesitates, bites her lip as she feels her cheeks heat, “sexy, sort of?”

Temari releases a disbelieving snort. “Sakura you _are_ sexy!” The taller woman wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer. “It’s time you start seeing that too.”

She feels a grin pull at her lips, Temari’s playfulness rubbing off on her. “Who are you wing manning here; me, or your brother?”

The blonde releases a hearty chuckle, squeezes her shoulder. “Why not both?” It’s then Sakura notices where she’s been led, the Kazekage tower looming over her. “Speaking of, he should be done right around now.”

Before she has time to process, she’s pushed through double doors and taken down familiar hallways. There’s a nervous flutter in her stomach, her hand firmly grasping her bags of purchases, hoping they might offer her some semblance of support. She’s in front of his door before she knows it, watching as Temari knocks, then enters without hesitation.

“Get up slowpoke, I brought you a snack.”

Sakura follows, eagerly takes in the sight of him behind his desk, tries to keep the excited drum of her pulse under control. His eyes lock onto his sister, take in the bags she’s carrying, then shoot to Sakura.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, stacking whatever he was reading, a stiffness to his movements.

“We did, didn’t we Sakura?” Temari grins.

She nods, feeling a smile stretch across her lips. “Yes, absolutely—I feel wonderfully refreshed.”

Gaara nods, offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She frowns, feels her stomach drop at his change of demeanour. “Actually,” he starts, schooling his expression—she’s surprised by her sudden inability to read him, “I do have something to discuss with Sakura, if you could leave us, Temari?”

The blonde glances between them, throws her bags over her shoulder and nods. “Alright, don’t be too long though; I made reservations.” She turns, sends Sakura a reassuring smile, then leaves without further comment.

Sakura watches the door close, hesitates to turn back to Gaara, wonders whatever has affected his mood. Her gaze slowly travels the floor, takes its time to lock with his. There’s a nervous pit in her stomach, pulling at her limbs.

“I’ve spoken with Naruto...” he starts, leaning back in his chair, the news causing her to inch closer—could it be she’s in trouble? “You’re allowed to stay,” he immediately continues, relieving some of her tension. She smiles, parting her lips to comment when he adds: “on one condition.” She closes her mouth, tightens her grip around her bags, wonders whatever condition Naruto could possibly propose. Gaara remains silent for a while, perhaps weighing his words as he observes her, his gaze unusually aloof. He takes a breath, wets his lips, then says: “Sasuke’s coming.”

Excitement, that’s what she should be feeling, right? Then why is it she can’t breathe, can’t think through the ringing in her ears? She swallows something thick, shifts her weight, tries not to let her emotions win. “Why?” is all she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

Gaara leans forward, folds his hands in front of his face, remains silent for a second too long. “Naruto thinks it in your best interest you resolve whatever’s troubling you.”

“By sending Sasuke?” She can’t believe her ears, blinks away the anger fogging her sight.

He averts his gaze, stares off into a corner, tension still evident in his features. “Perhaps he’s right,” he offers.

“What?” she snaps, feeling her temper flare.

His eyes return to her, take her in with an uncharacteristic detachment—but it quickly fades beneath her stare, a hint of worry returning to his features. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, you could punch him at least.”

She freezes, feels torn between a laugh and a scoff, notices Gaara appears to be in similar conflict, and deflates. She knows what’s going on here, recognises his offering her an out. “Who knows. I might.” She crosses her arms, her bags bumping her hip. He studies her, reluctantly lowers his guard, and she steps closer in response. “What else did Naruto say?”

“Just that he wants what’s best for both of us.”

In an unprovoked surge of confidence, she sits down on his desk, pinning him with her gaze. “And how would he know?”

He doesn’t shrink back, meets her head on, unflinching beneath her scrutiny. “He wouldn’t.”

She nods, wets her lips, studies his features. Her gaze trails the places her touch has been—where he’s consciously allowed it—and she once again wonders what, if not friendship, this odd intimacy between them represents. “So let’s catch that reservation,” she half speaks, half breathes, feeling the air leave her lungs as she pushes closer to him. She can’t help the smugness settling over her, feeling a self-indulgent sense of satisfaction—she’s planning her own journey, and she’s more than happy to welcome the right company along.

* * *

“I’m glad you’re both still in one piece: I’d hate to miss dinner.”

Gaara frowns. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Temari raises a brow as she pushes through the double-doors, exiting the building. “I’m pretty sure Sakura nearly shat herself.”

She snickers, happy to feel that familiar lightness, gaze darting between the siblings as she plays along. “I’m glad I didn’t, I just got these panties.”

Temari hums knowingly. “Be a real shame, they’re so pretty too—you’d love them Gaara.”

Sakura watches his frown deepen, confusion crossing his features. “Her underwear?”

“lingerie,” Temari corrects him, “you know, like Kankuro’s raunchy magazines.”

He blinks, appears non-plussed at the mention. “But you just said they were pretty.”

“On Sakura, yes.”

His gaze darts between them, then returns to the streets ahead, clouding over with thought as his face reddens.

Sakura can’t help the laughter escaping her, happy to have some payback. “We covered ourselves in mud too,” she adds, inching closer, teasingly bumping his shoulder. “I think my skin might be as soft as yours now.”

He hums, his face regaining its normal colour as he watches her with interest. Raising a hand, he runs his fingers down her cheek, lingering against her jaw. Her breath catches in her throat, her feet nearly tripping over themselves as they walk. He returns the limb to his side, closing his eyes as he nods. “Indeed.”

“Want to feel mine too?” Temari chimes in, slapping her cheeks.

He sends her a deadpan look, crossing his arms. “No.”

Sakura would have laughed hadn’t she been so caught up in her own thundering pulse, her gaze taking in the surrounding people, knowing they’d all been witness to the gesture. What would they think of their Kazekage being so familiar with her? Would they welcome her here? She chews the inside of her cheek, feels flattered by his public attentions—yet at the same time wonders what might happen once Sasuke arrives. She has no idea when that could be, but knowing Naruto it’s sooner rather than later. She wonders what Gaara thinks of it all: does he expect her to run to Sasuke first chance she gets? If she’s honest with herself—which she hasn’t been nearly enough—she doesn’t know either. Such a large part of her life has revolved around him; helping him, saving him, loving him... could those feelings ever cease to be?

She dares a glance at the redhead beside her, feels her eyes drift to his lips, thinks about all the times she’s wanted to kiss Sasuke’s—and wonders, not for the first time, what it’d be like to kiss Gaara instead.

* * *

“What’d I miss?”

“You’re looking fancy. What’s up with that?”

“Well it’s a special occasion.”

“And?”

“And what? I can’t dress up for Sakura-san?”

Temari narrows her eyes. “I know those shoes, you only wear them when you go clubbing.”

“Fine,” Kankuro throws up his hands, “so maybe I did have other plans. You guys should join.” He turns his gaze to Sakura. “It’ll be fun. Suna has some of the best bars.”

Sakura looks up from the menu, eyes darting between the three siblings. “Um,” she starts, lowering the paper in her hands. “I suppose I could?”

“Awesome!”

She smiles at Kankuro’s enthusiasm, feeling only slightly bad for potentially disappointing him as she continues: “but only if Gaara comes.”

The redhead in question wrinkles his nose, sending her a disbelieving look. “Why?”

She crosses her legs, sits back in her chair as she turns to him, the menu all but forgotten. “Because I’ll be needing my escort—and besides, I could teach you more dances. It’s a win-win.”

“Kankuro could escort you, he’s probably better at it too.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Temari says, raising a brow.

Sakura doesn’t take her eyes off Gaara, tipping her head. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else.”

“Come on, she’s _your_ guest,” Temari adds with a smirk.

Gaara crosses his arms with a frown, about to speak when a waiter comes to take their orders. Kankuro’s the first to list off his choices, doing so with a fervour implying they come here often. Sakura’s never heard of these dishes, opting to play it safe by ordering the same as Temari, who compliments her on her excellent taste. She smiles at the blonde, relieved she knows they have similar preferences. When the waiter leaves, all eyes return to Gaara, who stiffens in his seat.

“What?” he asks, glancing around the table.

“Well?” Kankuro pushes with a grin.

“Are you coming or not?” Temari smirks.

“You’d be doing me a favour,” Sakura adds, smiling innocently.

His frown deepens. “I don’t thi-“

“See that’s the problem, little brother,” Kankuro interrupts, leaning closer, “you think too much. Sakura-san is right, you should come, let loose a little.”

Temari nods. “For once, I agree.”

Gaara closes his eyes, sighs, runs a hand through his hair, then looks at Sakura. “Fine,” he concedes.

Kankuro cheers, pumping a fist in the air, ignoring Temari’s complaints at him bumping the table.

“Thanks,” Sakura smiles, genuinely excited, “I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

He studies her, probs his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm. “I’m counting on that.” There’s the makings of a smile on his lips, directed only at her.

“You’ll never want to go home after this, Sakura-san,” Kankuro boasts, a grin baring his teeth.

“Just Sakura is fine,” she offers, waving a hand, flattered by Kankuro’s persistent show of respect.

“Nonsense,” he quickly dismisses her, “you saved my life, remember.”

Sakura falters, about to insist it wasn’t a big deal when she stops herself—because it was, and it is, to him. He would be dead, simple as that, had she not been there.

“You have my eternal gratitude,” he continues, smiling warmly.

She nods, wrings her napkin as she searches for what to say.

“I also wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” Gaara adds, her eyes shooting to his, shaking her head as she shrinks beneath their sudden praise.

“I didn’t do that much,” she offers, smiling weakly. “Lady Chiyo was the one to save you.”

Gaara frowns. “She couldn’t have beat Sasori without you.”

“He’s right,” Kankuro says, distracted as their food arrives, hungrily eyeing his steaming dish.

“Like it or not, our family is indebted to you,” Temari grins, squeezing her hand affectionately. “You’ll always have a place with us.”

Sakura is stunned to silence, gaze traveling the table, taking in their welcoming faces. “I don’t know what to say,” she admits, swallowing against the sting of her throat, realising that no matter what she ends up deciding, they’ll support her.

Gaara’s smile reaches his eyes now, reshapes the black around them into an expression of tenderness. “You don’t have to say anything,” he reassures, his hand wrapping around hers, placing a set of chopsticks in her hold, “just eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took a while, it’s always hard to continue after such an emotional shift, so I really had to think very hard on where Sakura is right now, and of course where she’ll be going these coming chapters. My pneumonia has also reared its ugly head, so I’ve been pretty miserable, but luckily it’s only been one lung this time. I’m back on track now that I’ve figured out where to go from here, so hopefully updates will be faster. Thanks for all the tremendous support so far! Your comments have all been so kind, it means the world! Stay safe, and until the next chapter. (Will Sasuke be there??? WHO KNOWS!)


	10. Some other truths

They head home for a quick change of attire, and Sakura feels her body hum with anticipation. Though she’s never been a regular at any bars, Ino and she visited plenty—when her friend was single, that is. Temari lends her one of her dresses, which fits quite well despite their difference in height. A dark shade of crimson, Sakura admires the way it complements her skin. In her own right, Temari looks beautiful in black, her dress accentuating her feminine physique—Sakura tries not to feel jealous of her curves, reminiscent of her friends in Konoha. Next to the tall, busty woman, she thinks herself almost juvenile in her appearance. Which, compared to Temari, she might be. The blonde is way ahead of her, like most her friends are, and she’s reminded of how much life she’s purposely avoided.

When they emerge, both brothers are already waiting.

“Wow, Sakura-san,” Kankuro whistles, leaning against a wall, “nice.”

She feels a grin spread across her lips, walking up to Gaara. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” she asks, thinking she likes the black of his button-up.

“I’m already onto thirds,” he returns, gaze flicking to her dress before looking away, his lips parting to speak when Temari interrupts.

“Sakura, you look lovely in that,” she says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You have such a stunning figure, I’m jealous.”

She stiffens, whips around to meet Temari’s gaze. “What?” She shakes her head. “No way, you’re much prettier.”

The blonde ‘tsks’ her, directs a stern look at her brother. “Tell her, Gaara.”

He straightens his shoulders, glances between them. “Me?”

“You’re supposed to be her escort, aren’t you?” Temari raises a brow, hand propped on her hip.

He looks at Sakura, takes a deep breath—she feels herself mirror him, nerves closing her throat. She can tell he’s searching for words, a frown pulling at his brow, the way his eyes dart every which way endearing enough to temper the heat rising to her cheeks. “Your physique is very pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Temari releases her, crosses her arms.

“Appealing?”

“Attractive,” Kankuro calls. “You’re supposed to call her attractive.”

Sakura quickly raises her hands, offers an apologetic look on his behalf. “No, it’s alright, thank you, really, that’s nice of you-“

“You’re very attractive.” He smiles warmly, eyes crinkling in a way that has her weak-kneed yet delighted.

“Thank you...” She returns his smile, wraps an arm around herself as her mind attempts to catch up with her body, his words having already settled within the cradle of her chest. He holds out his arm, then, reminiscent of their walk to Naruto’s, and she feels her blush deepen.

“Is this what being a proud parent feels like?” Temari wipes at her eyes. “Kankuro get the camera!”

The puppet-master stumbles at the order, immediately rummages through a nearby drawer.

“I-“ Sakura cuts herself off, gaze darting between the siblings, chewing her lip as she moves to accept the offered limb, hoping she doesn’t look nearly as flustered as she feels—she truly doesn’t know what’s come over her, why such simple things leave her tongue-tied. Sure, Gaara is an attractive man, but that doesn’t explain why he dizzies her so, or why his touch spreads a heady warmth beneath her skin—and she can’t remember ever feeling like _this_ before. She steps closer, aligns herself against him, notices the way his breath hitches, and wonders if maybe—just maybe—he feels the same. 

A flash, and she’s spots Kankuro holding a camera. A picture rolls out, and he grins as he shakes it. “Thank me later.” Colour slowly reveals itself, an image of red and pink spreading across.

“I wasn’t ready!” Sakura gasps, trying to grab it, her attempts made nearly impossible by their difference in height.

“That’s what makes it better,” Kankuro quips, holding it even higher as he squints at it, “it’s real, none of that posed stuff.”

“At least let me see it,” Sakura huffs, making another futile attempt at grabbing it.

“Patie-“ A tendril of sand snatches the picture from Kankuro’s hand, who immediately turns to Gaara. “Oi!”

The redhead takes a silent a look at it, ignoring his brother’s protests before turning to Sakura, offering her the photo. “Here,” he says, meeting her gaze. 

She gingerly accepts it, bringing it to her face as she takes in the pair they make. He’s taller than she’d expected, looming over her by several inches, but it’s not so much their appearance that draws her attention—it’s the way they’re looking at each other, or rather, almost looking. Like Kankuro said, it’s candid, and it manages to tell more of a story. She’s focused on Gaara’s arm as she accepts it, a rosy colour dusting her cheeks. Gaara, on the other hand, is looking directly at her, studying her with a softness she would have missed otherwise. It’s a glimpse of their budding closeness, and she’s happy to have it captured.

“I like it,” she smiles, looking up at Kankuro. “Thank you.”

Temari peeks over Sakura’s shoulder, studying the image. “That’s actually really neat,” she says, locking eyes with the puppet-master. “Good job!”

He grins, scratching his cheek as he waves a hand. “Aw it’s no big deal,” he mutters, followed by: “thanks Tem.”

The blonde smiles as she passes, patting him on the shoulder. “Well then,” she continues, “shall we depart?”

Though Sakura catches the chagrined look crossing Gaara’s features, he doesn’t otherwise speak up or complain, following behind his siblings with her at his side—something she knows works to both their benefit. She leaves the picture next to the others already framed, throwing it a last, fond look before they exit the room. She holds on tight to his arm, pride swelling in her chest, bringing a smile to her face. They step out into the evening air, and much to her surprise the city seems even more alive; hundreds of people bustling through the streets, visiting shops or having a drink. Thinking of the morning heat, she can easily see why they would prefer night over day, the air infinitely more pleasant without the sun to burn you alive.

“Have you ever visited any of our bars?” Temari asks from beside her.

Sakura shakes her head, trying to think back on her brief moments spent in the Hidden Sand. “Actually no, I’ve honestly never gotten the chance.”

“I’ve visited Konoha’s, and I can tell you they pale in comparison,” Kankuro boasts, hands on his hips.

Sakura smiles, gaze drawn to the many lanterns criss-crossing between buildings. They illuminate the streets, cast an amber shine across architecture. As her eyes take in the hustle and bustle, they next find Gaara, the seafoam of his gaze glittering with flickers of gold. He returns her stare, raises a brow.

“What about you?” she asks, squeezing his arm.

“This would be my first time,” he admits, searching her features in that characteristic way of his.

“Trust me, I’ve been begging him to come for years,” Kankuro says. “It’s good to spend time among the people, you know, show them you’re actually one of them.”

Gaara frowns as he directs his gaze at his brother. “By getting drunk?”

“Fair point,” Sakura laughs, continuing to smile at the redhead.

“You don’t _have_ to get drunk, it’s about a sharing of habits.”

“Which habits might you be referring to?” Temari interjects. “Picking up strangers?”

Kankuro barks with laughter. “No, no, no—leave that to me.” He rubs the back of his neck, tousling his hair. 

There’s music now, coming from several angles, bouncing off walls. People are talking, the buzz of conversation mingling between songs. A sense of promise lingers in the air, raises goosebumps across Sakura’s skin, her pulse quickening as she watches the many couples, arm in arm. She instinctively presses closer, feels Gaara’s warmth soak into her, relishes the shiver it sends down her spine.

“Everything is so beautiful,” she murmurs, unable to pick a single thing to look at.

Gaara hums, the sound vibrating through her. “So it is.”

“Come on!” Kankuro calls, already headed around a corner, Temari at his side.

They follow, and Sakura’s breath catches as the scene before her unfolds, music thrumming in her veins. There’s a large square filled with people, a fountain at its center, its water reflecting the many lanterns strung across the space. There’s greenery, as well as mosaic decorating the surrounding structures, unlike the rest of Suna. She pauses, eyes darting along the many details, spotting happy faces as well as colourful drinks. Gaara stands beside her, equally occupied with their surroundings, the curiosity behind his stare telling her all she needs to know.

“You’ve never seen this, have you,” she observes, drawing his attention.

He offers a thin-lipped smile, averts his gaze as he continues to look around, remains silent for a bit. There’s a twitch on his brow, betraying his indecision before he sighs, returning his eyes to her. “I was always told to stay away from crowds.”

She nods, chews her lip, feels a flash of spite warm her blood. “Well then,” she starts, a smirk creeping across her lips, “suppose we have another habit to break.” She pulls him forward, past several groups of people, heads straight for his siblings who have already found themselves a table. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been here,” Temari sighs, resting her elbows atop its surface.

“I’ll get us some drinks!” Kankuro offers, turning on his heel with a grin, headed for one of the many stands. 

“I’m not sure what I had in mind,” Sakura starts, joining the blonde, “but this wasn’t it. It’s so pretty!”

Temari smiles. “It’s what keeps the people cheerful in a climate as harsh as ours.”

Sakura continues to look around, takes in the many faces, notices some of them watching her in return, and wonders what they might think of this stranger in their midst. More than anything, it’s quite obvious they hadn’t expected to see their Kazekage, curious glances thrown their way every few seconds. No one has made an effort to approach them yet, and she isn’t sure why that might be—though she has a growing suspicion. Contrary to what she’d thought, the people in Suna don’t appear culturally inclined to avoid touch, in fact they interact in much the same way as those of her own village. Couples hold hands, dance closely, hug and kiss without reservation. There’s friends walking arm in arm, laying hands on shoulders and slapping backs. If giving it more thought, she recalls Temari’s easy familiarity, the blonde never seeming to think twice about physical contact.

She looks at Gaara, notices him watching the crowd, a faraway look in his eyes, and sees now what he’s already told her. Despite having earned the respect and devotion of his village, he’s still on the outside looking in, never quite part of the human experience—never asked to dance, or dinner; never quite touched, trusted, or treated like any other his age. There’s a chill sweeping down her spine, a shudder in her breath. He catches the sound, sets his inquiring eyes upon her, their iridescent pull swallowing her whole. She feels them now, the truths he’s worn on his sleeve yet never said, it’s an ache all too familiar.

“You know, Ino and I used to play this game whenever we went out,” she quickly says. “It’s called two truths and a lie.”

“Oh, I know that game!” Temari chimes in, leaning closer.

Sakura smiles, gaze darting between the siblings. “Everyone takes a turn telling two truths, and one lie. The others have to try and guess which one’s the lie, and those who get it wrong have to drink.”

“Suppose I’m right on time,” Kankuro interjects, placing several drinks on the table.

“What do you say, Gaara,” Sakura sends the redhead a smirk, “are you in?”

He appears to consider the challenge, crossing his arms as he eyes the drinks, then studies her. Though she tries not to let it show, she does waver in her confidence, aware he’s told her he doesn’t drink before. “Okay,” he says, surprising her, “I’ll bite.”

“Alright!” Kankuro cheers, pushing a glass towards his brother. “Time to become a man!”

Temari slaps his arm, sends him a disapproving look. “He already is, reckless drinking doesn’t change a thing.”

Kankuro rubs the affected spot, pouts at his sister.

“I’ll start!” Sakura grins, excitement bubbling in her chest. “I’m right-handed, I don’t like spicy foods, and my favourite colour is pink.”

“Who doesn’t like spicy foods? I’m going with that one,” Kankuro scoffs, pout forgotten.

“I’m going to guess you’re actually left-handed,” Temari muses, finger pressed to her lips.

Sakura feels her grin widen, turning her gaze to Gaara. “And you?”

He takes a moment to consider his options, locking eyes with her. “Your favourite colour isn’t pink.”

She turns a smirk on his siblings. “Gaara’s right. My favourite colour is red.”

“No way!” Kankuro runs a hand across his face, watches her with a stumped expression.

“You got us,” Temari chuckles, taking an obligatory drink.

“You get to go next,” she says to Gaara, holding her breath in anticipation.

He hums in thought, fuelling her curiosity. “I’ve never done a D-rank mission, I don’t know taijutsu, and I enjoy reading.”

“You first Sakura-san!”

She plays with her necklace, tries her best to rule out what she can. “This is harder than I’d expected,” she chuckles. “I’m going to guess the D-rank mission is a lie.”

Temari chimes in next. “I’ve never seen you read a book in your life, I’m going with that one.”

“Same,” Kankuro echoes.

Gaara sends them a pointed look. “You’re all wrong.”

“What!” Sakura gasps, blinking as she leans closer. “You’re trained in taijutsu?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know that.” Temari crosses her arms.

“Shira taught me.”

“Shira did?” Temari muses, then points an accusing finger. “Hold on, since when do you read?”

“You’re usually asleep when I do.”

Her mouth forms an ‘o’.

“You do realise you’re going to have to spar with me soon, right?” Sakura teases. “I’d like to see those moves.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “just don’t forget to drink first.”

She laughs, raises her glass in surrender.

“Alright, you guys are keeping this way too tame, let’s get down to business,” Kankuro says. “I have a thing for brunettes, I’ve picked up 14 different women and 3 men.”

Temari flies back, shoots a disgusted look at her brother. “Ew! You’re keeping count?”

He shrugs. “Of course, how else would I know my rate of succes?

She opens her mouth, closes it, frowns, then releases a sigh. “Well of course you’d be into yourself, I’m going to question the 14 women.”

“3 men?” Sakura studies the puppet-master, watches his proud grin grow.

“I’m going for the brunette one,” Gaara adds, lips pressed into a thin line.

Kankuro releases a barking laugh. “Alright Sakura-san, Gaara, chug up! The correct number is 7 women.”

“I still can’t believe you’re keeping count.” Temari shakes her head, rubs her face.

Kankuro leans back, then shrugs. “Eh, as if Gaara’s never kept body count.”

The redhead chokes on his drink, wide eyes locking onto his brother.

“I can’t believe you,” Temari shrieks, rescuing the glass from Gaara’s grip. “And don’t think I’ll be gross like you,” she says as she puts it down. 

Sakura turns to Gaara, who’s still resisting a cough. “What do you think?” she asks. “Do you like it?”

He swallows, takes a breath, clears his throat. “It burns,” he admits, “but it doesn’t taste too bad.”

“Not too bad, huh?” Sakura titters. “Suppose you could get used to it?”

There’s the hint of a smile on his lips. “Possibly.”

Temari crosses her arms, fingers tapping her bicep as she thinks. “I hate eating squid and reading poetry, but I love flowers.”

“That’s easy! The flowers are definitely a lie,” Kankuro boasts, a smug smile spreading across his features.

“I’ll guess the squid one,” Sakura says, unable to believe anyone could hate flowers.

“I’ll side with Kankuro.”

“Ha!” Temari delights. “Drink up, losers.”

Sakura laughs as Kankuro’s expression transforms into one of shock, taking another sip of her sweet drink. She turns her gaze to Gaara, watches him hesitantly do the same, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallows. “My turn.” She smiles, feeling the alcohol warm her blood, spreading a pleasant heat beneath her skin. “I love to swim, I’ve never kissed, and I have a low tolerance for alcohol.”

“No way, the kissing one is a lie!” Kankuro smirks, slamming his glass onto the table.

“Gaara-sama!” a voice calls out, all turning to meet its owner. Sakura sees a young brunette approach, followed by a darker-haired girl, both somewhat familiar. They stop at their table, and she notices Gaara inching closer to her. “I’ve never seen you around here,” the girl continues, pink dusting her cheeks.

“Indeed,” he answers, offering no more than a simple nod.

“I’m Matsuri,” the brunette turns to Sakura, “I admire you greatly, Sakura-sama.” Her eyes dart in Gaara’s direction, her blush deepening, deciding to quickly introduce her friend. “Oh, and this is Yukata.”

The dark-haired girl smiles. “We’ve met during the Chuunin exams.”

“Ah, right, I thought I recognised you,” Sakura muses.

“I heard you’ve been staying with Gaara-sama,” Matsuri says. “How long will you be here for? I’d love a chance to spar!”

She’s surprised at the girl knowing such things, but reckons her prompt entrance would have made quite the news. “Actually,” Sakura starts, “I haven’t decided yet—but I’m sure we could arrange it.”

“Oi, Yukata,” Kankuro calls, leaning closer. “You should join me for a dance.” He winks, offering a grin.

The girl eyes the puppet-master, then looks to his brother, parting her lips when her friend speaks instead.

“Will you be dancing, Gaara-sama?” Matsuri asks, her blush deepening.

The redhead shifts his weight, blinking as he looks around the table, taking in the expectant looks. “Actually, Sakura was just about to dance with me,” he says, surprising the Konoha-nin by taking her hand. “You’ll have to excuse us.” Her heart’s in her throat as he pulls her along, her feet tripping over themselves in virtue of the alcohol in her system. She realises the drinks must have been quite strong, explaining the firmness of Gaara’s hand—after all, what better way to lower one’s inhibitions? He throws her a look over his shoulder, sends her a smile that has her stomach in knots. They pass through groups of people, attracting plenty attention due to their bright hair—it’d be near impossible to lose one another in a crowd, she muses. She stumbles as he stops, bumping into him, her face heating as she apologises. He doesn’t respond, instead takes her other hand, places it on his shoulder, his own coming to rest on her hip.

“She seemed nice.” She tries to make small-talk, anything to distract from the roar in her veins at his proximity, long fingers igniting a fire beneath her skin.

He hums, gazes down at her. “She is.”

She clears her throat, attempts to gather her wits, does her best to brave the beauty of him. He’s close, his breath fanning her cheek, inducing shivers. “So why are you avoiding her?” If anything, it seemed the girl _really_ liked him, as did her friend. She swallows the flare of jealousy at the thought, instead looks at her hand in his, her own breath heavy in her chest—if she moves closer, will he welcome her?

“Her occupation with me borders on sycophancy.”

She wets her lips, shutters her eyes at the unexpected blooming of want within her. “So she admires you, isn’t that a positive quality?” She shakes her head, more to clear her mind than anything else, feeling herself quiver beneath his grip.

“She admires power more.”

She studies him, adores the nearly invisible dusting of freckles, drinks up the diamond lustre of his gaze. “I can imagine it easy being star-struck by a Kazekage.” More so, she can imagine it easy to fall in love with a man like him.

His lips part, his gaze darting across her features, his thumb running along her hand. “I prefer being just Gaara.”

She hums, feels her eyes close, her body instinctively moving nearer. “Just Gaara it is then.” She catches his smile, swears she feels the beat of his heart through their palms. “Tell me some other truths I don’t know.”

He nods, continues to lead, somehow remembers all she’s shown him. “My favourite colour is green.”

She feels a smile tug at her lips, her heart swelling, aware how his gaze never strays far from hers.

“My favourite drink is cinnamon tea.”

Does he wish for it too? To close his eyes, close the distance? There’s a calling inside her, a new taste to her pulse. Somehow each fragrant wave of him floods her with a single want. She looks at the hand on his shoulder, experimentally slips it across, to the back of his neck, his hair trailing along her skin—all she’d need now is raise herself.

“And my favourite person is you.”

She freezes, blinks up at him, sees still those same seafoam eyes, wants still to taste the tenderness upon those familiar features. “Me?” she finds herself asking, a distant part of her trying to wrap its head around such a claim—drowned out by the steady drum of her longing.

He parts his lips, pauses, gaze shooting past her. “Shit.”

She does a double-take, tips her head as she snorts. “Did you just _curse_?” Somehow it’s funnier than it should be, and she bites her lip as she giggles at him.

His gaze flits between her and whatever’s in the distance, a frown settling between his brows. “There’s someone from my council,” he says, taking in their surroundings. “Come on.” He pulls her hand, leads her through the crowd, throwing glances over his shoulder. Sakura follows his gaze, spots a man in his forties staring them down.

“Kazekage-sama!” he calls, causing Gaara to stiffen before picking up his pace. They break out into a run, turning heads as they pass. It’s funny, Sakura thinks, that, despite the many eyes following them, she doesn’t feel prosecuted by their looks. She grins, holds on to his hand more tightly, listens to their echoing steps as they round a corner, dashing through vacant alleys and quiet streets. There’s lanterns still, illuminating their path, adding golden stars to the sky. After turning another corner, they stop, chests heaving as they try and catch their breath. She doesn’t know where they are, but it must be at the edge of the village; beyond a wall of sand lays a glittering desert, painted blue like a landscape of waves.

“That was exciting.” Sakura can’t contain her teeth-baring grin, locking eyes with her equally winded companion. 

“Really?” he asks. “Felt more daunting to me.”

She laughs, chews her lip, takes in the unruly state of him. He leans against a wall, closes his eyes, probably still feels the alcohol—she does too. Emboldened, she steps closer, takes his hands. His eyes shoot open, travel to their joined limbs, then to her face. They’re both waiting, questions buzzing through the air, prickling against their skin—thoughts of who will be the first to move. She looks at him, wonders how he’s never properly caught her eye before, how she’s gone this long without him to rouse her alive. She moves closer, swallows against the throb of her every nerve, wonders if he feels it too—this pull like the tides, slipping between their every breath. Forget whoever she was, wherever she’s been; here is all she needs and there’s no other calling than her name on his lips—lips she feels herself inch towards.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, heavy-lidded.

She pauses, meets his eye, feels his breath against her skin. “Why not?” She’s never seen him this close, dilated pupils in clear view, refracting lantern-light and turning it to flecks of amber.

“I-“ he cuts himself off, inhales, closes his eyes.

“Why not?” she repeats, releases his hands, his words twisting themselves between them.

He looks at her, then averts his gaze, tension tightening his jaw.

Has she pushed too far? Misread whatever’s gone unspoken between them? She’s an idiot, she thinks, believing he’d ever. “Talk to me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, betraying his conflict. “It’s true isn’t it?” he starts, returning his gaze to her. “I’ve seen you drink plenty without issue, and I’d find it hard to believe someone who hates swimming would choose to willingly.”

She’s taken aback for a bit, confusion contorting her brow—until his meaning hits. She crosses her arms, feels the sting of it. “So I’ve never kissed before, why does it matter?” Would such a thing make him think any less of her? It appears to be a running theme for the men in her life, to assume her fatuous. It’s the kind of betrayal she hadn’t expected of him, adding a bitter tinge to their evening.

He frowns, averts his gaze, crosses his arms, loses the authoritative air she’s grown used to. “I-“ he starts again, clenches his eyes shut, appears more and more like the diffident man he’s shown her to be, “I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

She’s speechless, their silence interrupted only by the chirping of night-time crickets. Shaking her head, she instinctively reaches for him, quickly stops herself, wraps a hand around her arm. “How would you-“

“I don’t know how,” he blurts, a frown twisting his brow, reshaping marks of black into an expression of loss. “Or anything, about any of this.” 

She watches him, all the while searches for something, anything to tell him it’s okay—to admit she hasn’t the slightest idea either. But it’s hard to think over the rumble of her pulse, and she places a hand over her heart despite knowing it won’t silence its drum. “So?” she manages, her voice lost somewhere in the pit of her chest.

“So I’m clueless and stunted and...” he pushes away from the wall, gaze directed down the empty street, “and I never planned on figuring out any of this—but then you came filling my head with pretty smiles and-“ he pauses, looks at his feet, “and I’d never known it possible to crave touch or how much I’d needed it, yet there you were.”

It’s bittersweet—heartwarming and heartbreaking at once—her smile paper-thin as it dawns. She sucks in a breath, finds her voice in the loss of reservation. “I didn’t know how much I needed someone to appreciate me simply for being who I am. Until you.” 

He meets her gaze, searches her with those piercing eyes, then looks away again. “The fact remains I’m hardly anything anyone deserves.”

She does reach out now, steps closer, cups his jaw, turns him back to face her. “Whatever I might deserve pales in comparison of all you’ve already given me.” She smiles, runs her thumb along his skin, curls her fingers into his hair. “You’re not alone in this—in feeling the way you do.” She feels it too. All the time. Thinks she understands far too well what it’s like. He looks at her hand, then her face, old shadows bordering his gaze. “If you’d like…” she chews her lip, employs her liquid courage to press on, “we could figure it out. Together.” If she isn’t careful, she fears her chest might burst from the air she holds—but she doesn’t dare release it, either, afraid she’ll lose her poise.

He does, exhales as he closes his eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing beneath her palm. She doesn’t push, feels him lean into her caress, his frown smoothing out. Slowly, his eyes reopen, focus on her, ease whatever worries remain. Somehow, she feels safe within the lull of his perception, knows now with certainty there’s no condescendence. He studies her, raises a hand to her face, runs his fingers along her cheek. She leans into it, releases a shaky breath, feels her heart dance to the trill of his touch. There’s crickets still, serenading the night, their song a soothing constant. It’s beautiful, she thinks, as is he, illuminated by a gentle flicker.

He pushes her hair from her face, raises another hand to cup the other side. “And if I disappoint?”

She takes hold of his arm, slides up his shoulder, curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Then we keep trying.”

He takes a deep breath, runs his thumbs along her cheeks, leans his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes, inhales the scent of him, feels her pulse leap at his proximity, breathing increasingly shallow as the tip of his nose bumps into hers. It’s dizzying, her fingers tightening their hold, bracing against the vortex he’s sure to sweep her into. And she thinks, knows, it’s worth it, all she’s done or hasn’t, so long as here is where she remains. She lifts her chin, feels his breath fan her lips, shivers, her pulse a lop-sided gallop, singing his name in the course of her veins. Closer, ever closer, until there’s the gentlest press, igniting her from the inside out, opening her up and spilling all she’s refused to acknowledge, all she’s known but never allowed.

Pull, closer. She’s more body than mind, feels her hold tighten as well as her skin, thinks she might burst from all this feeling. There’s the wall, back pressed firm like he, now, breathing hot against her, lips spilling down, devouring her every last thought until she is all quivering legs and coiled need. More, she begs in the wrap of her arms, more of his cinnamon taste and fever touch, revealing through waves of highs what life feels like—all this life, running from her tongue, coaxing for release. There’s teeth and nails, streaming down skin in pleas, leaving lines she reads—words she doesn’t form but feels clearly in the absence of control. She’s spun tight, hanging off every breath, bursting through seams of who she’s expected—let’s free who is, instead, and thinks this is home in his hands, threading her hair.

And just like that, it stops. Jars her from his touch-induced fervour, strips his warmth and leaves her out of breath, chilled. He’s backed away, eyes wide, lungs heaving, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at her. There’s silence in the empty air between them, interrupted by their breath, punctuated by nightly critters. She straightens herself, pushes her hair behind her ear, tries to regain some composure in the wake of their craving. Could she even label it a kiss, when what she felt went far beyond a simple meeting of lips? She clears her throat, wraps an arm around herself as she takes in his unease—she hadn’t been prepared either, but...

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, voice hoarse, wondering if what she experienced was normal by any standard.

“No, no- I-“ He shakes his head, sounds equally husky, causing a subtle return of her unsatisfied hunger—she doubts it ever could be. “I’m sorry, I...” he blinks, frowns, licks his swollen lips, “I’m confused, is all.”

She nods, fumbles with the collar of her dress, crosses her legs to distract herself. “Why?”

He releases a breath, conflict twisting his brow as he closes his eyes. “Well-“

“Kazekage-sama!” A familiar voice interrupts, redirecting Sakura’s attention. She recognises the man from earlier, feels silly caught in the middle, hopes he hasn’t seen their dispute. “I apologise for the interruption, I’ve been looking for you,” the man continues.

Gaara clears his throat, turns to his council member. “Why?”

“There’s a guest, he’s arrived an hour ago,” the man says, causing Sakura’s hair to rise, disquiet chilling her to the marrow. “I sent him to your office, but...” It couldn’t be, could it? Right now? She slumps against the wall, feels her strength leave her, thinks his presence to be the last thing she needs, especially now. Her gaze finds Gaara’s, his features perfectly composed, betraying nothing of his thoughts. 

“His name?” he asks, averting his eyes, all authority returned to his being—like none of it happened, like they didn’t unearth an entirely new facet to their relationship, awakening a craving Sakura still tastes on her lips, still feels in the rush of her blood and heat of her loins. But of course such should befall her, after all, how had she expected to ever escape the bane of her existence...

“Uchiha Sasuke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes we're still going! How'd you like that? :} I was pretty conflicted on whether I should have them kiss or not, since, you know, who doesn't love a good slow-burn? BUT, then I also figured it'd be a great way to propel both their characters forward. So here you go, I hope you liked it. As for Gaara's character, I feel he would have a very complicated relationship with lust, or attraction in general. Despite what many fan-works tend to show, he isn't sex-driven in canon, not even when he was murdering people. Sex isn't something on Gaara's mind, and with an obvious lack of proper social development and the internet, I feel like he's a bit out of the loop when it comes to his own feelings--perhaps he's always ignored them, thinking them a distraction. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that exploring that side of him would be both confusing and scary. There's little control to our emotions, so, slowly, he's going to have to let go of his control, something I think would be very hard for someone with a past like his. That's what his character will have to suffer through these coming chapters, so I hope you'll find it as interesting as I do! Also, Kankuro is a bisexual icon, and nothing can convince me otherwise.


	11. Illusion of change

The wind chills her as they walk, pace hurried, straight for his office. With the cooling of her bones comes the clearing of her mind, the realisation of what she’s done—who’s taste lingers. She dares a glance to her left, catches a glimpse of his stoic features, regrets it for the stutter of her heart. Did they really? Though the memory of his lips appears seared into her skin, their interaction now feels hardly real—how could it be when she’s still herself after? When nothing tangible’s changed and her wishing for it seems equally present? In the wake of its intensity, she’s left horribly unsettled—idles still on whatever he’d been about to tell her. Sure, she’s no stranger to confusion, but still knows with certainty she cherished every thrilling second of it—how could she not after feeling all she has, all this desire, bursting from the inside of her, from places she thought long withered and dulled.

So what ended them? Stopped them in their tracks before the inevitable could come to fruition? She swallows, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, dares another glance. His council member walks to the left of him, throws her scrutinising looks without hesitation. She can’t blame him; she’d be impertinent, too, had she had to deal with a fleeing leader. Gaara’s made no effort to explain, and she strongly doubts he ever will—not to his council. No, the tension is palpable, and she wonders what the man might think of their little escapade, hopes he wasn’t around to witness their more heated moments.

“We’ll be fine from here, Sajo,” Gaara says, arriving at the Kazekage tower, “you’re allowed to wait outside.”

The man frowns, takes another step closer. “Lord Kazekage, with all due respect, I-“

Gaara raises a hand. “Uchiha Sasuke does not come unannounced, I’ve fully prepared for his arrival.” Sajo looks as if he’s about to protest when Gaara speaks again: “I’ll keep you posted, for now, remain on stand-by.”

The council member tersely nods, bows, allows his eyes to stray in Sakura’s direction as he rights himself. She tenses beneath his gaze, straightens her back, refuses to appear like less than the professional she’s supposed to be. It’s convincing enough, to her at least, imbues her with what little confidence she can manage—she’ll need it moving forward, envious of Gaara’s ability to strip himself of ambivalence.

“Come,” he says to her, waiting as he holds the door, features frustratingly impassive. Like her, he’s probably sobered up during their walk, forced to contemplate whatever they initiated—whatever they’ll be moving forward. She starts into a walk, carries herself with all the grace she can manage. His eyes follow her as she does, see all she lets slip without intention; the tension in her shoulders, the wringing of her hands. She knows it’s weak, to be anything but perfectly poised—like him—but how could she? Somewhere in this building is the man she thought she loved, insisted, even though now she doubts she knew what love was. She doesn’t know how to feel yet, what to think of his presence—fear wasn’t on her list of possibilities, yet somehow it sweeps down her limbs, has her clenching her teeth. Somewhere in this building awaits her future, a final decision she knows has to be made.

They’re silent as they walk, passing through empty hallways, the sound of their feet the only sign of life. She keeps her hands folded in front of her, resists the urge to cross her arms, doesn’t want him to notice her uncertainty. She’s tensed, stiff, muscles tight, lips pressed together to keep from speaking. There’s so much she wishes to say, questions she wants to ask. She’s about to see Sasuke for the first time in months, and she feels she needs Gaara’s voice now more than ever—needs to hear she means something to him, at least. But he’s silent, shadows cast across shuttered eyes, revealing none of the life she’s gotten so used to. For all the good he’s brought, there too is an ugliness, festering, doubt whispering in her ear. It’s the part of her that feels inadequate—annoying—and it is deafening in their shared silence.

They reach his office, door closed in a small act of mercy. She sucks in a breath, steels herself for whatever pain may come; there’s no question there will be. She dares a final glance at Gaara, catches his eye as he studies her.

“You don’t have to be present if you don’t want to.”

An out. And she’s tempted to reach for it both hands, accept this chance of running away in blissful ignorance—but she can’t. Not after she initiated their kiss; the least she owes Gaara is to face up to her feelings. “I want to,” she says, the following silence charged by her resolve. She won’t be a coward, not like him; not like Sasuke.

Gaara nods, reaches for the door, grips the knob with a grace she herself couldn’t have managed in a similar position. And then, it opens. It’s a strange thing, how the heart can be torn apart by conflict, ripped into tiny slices until they’re small enough to pass through the cracks. It’s what has her holding herself, as if to keep it all together, keep safe the pieces she’s sure to lose at the sight of him. How many times she’s imagined this scenario, their reunion, the way his eyes might brighten with the sight of her. Yet there’s none of that. No, his eyes do not find hers with traces of old fondness—nothing of the sort—instead, they shoot to her company, seize up the redhead who follows her in. As if it’s him he’s longed to see, in a way, if only to parade his obvious disdain.

“You arrived fast,” Gaara notes, impassive enough to have it neither be an accustation, nor a question.

Sakura turns to watching him instead, finding security in his lack of dismissal. It’s the warmth of him that has her almost forget the cold, seeping beneath her skin, imprinting like the grate of stone.

“Hn,” Sasuke hums.

There’s a pale gleam highlighting her silhouette, revealing to all the night the ghosts of shame rolling down her cheeks; her failure to be enough.

“I take it that means you were near?”

She’s back again, and it’s almost assuring in its familiarity; the hardness in her bones left by a roadside bench.

“Yes.”

Though it wasn’t the worst he caused her—not by far—it was her first taste of abandonment, and her last of innocence. For how could she cling to her ideals in the flicker of sharpened steel, the ear-splitting crackle of a thousand birds. Death, though in itself impartial, called her name on Sasuke’s lips.

“I’ve arranged for you a place to stay for as long as you choose. As part of your mission here, you’ll be joining border patrols to investigate a string of interconnected cases over the past months.”

She watches Gaara move past him, circling his desk, made to seem so small by the looming Uchiha. She finally allows her eyes to find his again, gritting her teeth so as to keep her features impassive—but it’s a challenge when an eye the colour of a night-sky stares her down.

He raises his chin. “And she?” he asks without directly addressing her. “Has she been given any missions?” There’s a frown on his lips, his visible eye flicking down her body. “Aside from fooling around.”

She’s thankful for the distance between them, thankful he can’t hear the dropping of her heart despite her attempts of holding it. He’s right, isn’t he? She is being rather selfish, thinking she can waste another village’s time, leeching off their hospitality. The least she could do is make herself useful.

“Sakura is my personal guest, and as such she owes the village no servitude so long as she doesn’t wish it.”

“Hn,” Sasuke grunts, an iciness in his gaze. “Personal, is it?”

“Yes.”

There’s a shift in Sasuke’s demeanour, a passing of thought in his gaze before it sharpens. “I’m glad you’ve finally managed some friendships, seems you’re rather busy, being Kazekage.” He tips his head, flicks his single eye to her. “It’s easy to see why Sakura might seem a safe option, being all the way from Konoha.”

There’s a narrowing of Gaara’s gaze. “That makes two of us, does it not?”

The tension is palpable, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to breathe beneath the weight of their presence. She finds herself drawing back, hoping to find a wall for support, anything to keep from toppling. Though not much has been said, somehow Sasuke’s knows—even after all these months—how to get under her skin with expert precision.

“Personal matters aside, I take it you must be tired. I’ll have you escorted to your hotel, if you’re ready. I’m sure you and Sakura might like to catch up in the morning.” Despite Sasuke’s veiled attempt at unnerving Gaara, there isn’t a trace of discomfort in his demeanour, features kept perfectly neutral, voice unwavering in its authority.

Sasuke doesn’t reply, single eye trained on the Kazekage with an intensity she wouldn’t be able to bear herself. He turns, then, surprising her with his sudden shift of focus, directing his full attention to her. “Indeed,” he says, stepping towards her, his towering presence dwarfing her in comparison. “It’s been too long.” He lifts a long arm, drapes it across her shoulders, pulls her against him, steals the breath from her lungs. She’s pressed to his chest, awkwardly keeps her arms wrapped around herself, feels the stiffness that is his body—doesn’t feel welcomed despite his friendly gesture. She’s but the whisper of moonlight, and if she didn’t know any better she’d think she’d pass right through him. She swallows, feels frozen in place, and time crawls by painfully slow. Until he releases her, the familiar scent of cinders lingering in his stead. Her gaze finds Gaara’s, and though he watches her, there’s not a trace of emotion to be found. Looking away, her eyes hesitate before meeting Sasuke’s, taking in the familiarity of his angular features, the perfect shape of him. He’s as handsome as he’s always been, as captivating as she’s thought him since childhood. There’s a ruggedness to his appearance that suits him, a freedom she’s sure he’s found outside of Konoha, away from her.

She nods, takes in the stilted smile spreading across his lips—lips she thinks strangers to her own—and manages to find her voice. “I look forward to hearing about your travels.” There’s no accusation in her tone, only the fragility of her resolve shows through its slight tremor, yet the words imply more than she dares say directly. “Goodnight, Sasuke-kun.” She offers a polite bow, feels his eyes burning her skin, shivers running through her which, despite their likeness, resemble not in the slightest those brought about by the silent redhead—the contrast is stark enough to give her pause.

“Goodnight,” he says, his baritone a rattle in her bones, weighing down her stare. Her eyes remain fixed on the ground, too afraid meeting his gaze might reveal her unease, the lull of alcohol still warming her veins, shaping her emotions—and she’s certain, right now, too much of him might break her.

* * *

Sajo is asked to further escort Sasuke, and Sakura ignores the latter’s confused look as they separate ways; the Kazekage and she headed elsewhere. She doesn’t dare breach the subject, choosing instead to keep as close to Gaara as she can, allowing him to lead as they leave Sasuke behind. Between the two of them, she’s more at ease with the redhead, despite their shaky friendship—if she can call it that anymore. Her relief, however, couldn’t be more equivocal.

“I hope you’re not angry with me,” she manages, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling the nightly chill start to bite.

He glances her way, frowns, but reveals no other clue as to his current thoughts. “Of course not.” His voice is even, and in the absence of it she’s painfully aware how much she needs his tenderness right now.

“I’m really sorry if I overstepped—pushed too hard—you should know it was never my intention to-“

“Please don’t apologise,” he cuts her off, frown deepening, but doesn’t make a move to elaborate.

The response leaves her unsatisfied, and she chews her lip, clenches her eyes shut to keep her tears from falling. “If you don’t want me with you tonight, it’s okay, I understand, and-“ Her voice breaks, hands balled into fists, she feels loss already numbing her limbs.

“Sakura,” he interrupts her, pausing his walk. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” There’s a rustle of wind, and she finally manages the courage to meet his gaze. She’s struck again by the paleness of his eyes, feels herself drown in those seafoam depths. “I shouldn’t have...” he starts, hesitates, crosses his arms before looking away. “I shouldn’t have been so careless; it was too great a risk and I apologise. You’re still welcome to remain at my house, so long as you feel safe being there.”

It’s her turn to frown. “Of course I feel safe,” she says, searches his features. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks up, his once inviting gaze now bearing an air of forced detachment, chilling her. “I’m losing control,” he admits, his voice painfully reminiscent of the Gaara she remembers, “which is why I won’t be home tonight; because I don’t want to kill you.”

She’s frozen to the spot, feels her breath cease, her pulse throbbing through her skull. What could he possibly mean? How could he even come to believe such a thing? Their kiss, for all her drunken judgement was worth, hadn’t suggested anything malicious on his part—and though she has no previous experience to draw from, she’s certain it’d been genuine... or so she wants to believe. Sure, it’d been ill-timed and reckless, but there was no denying the emotions involved, the eagerness with which they’d both responded—right? Could she have possibly been so twisted by experience to mistake aggression for attraction? Had her lessons in life been none of love, but of only derision?

“Let’s move on,” he then says, looking towards their destination, “I shouldn’t keep you up any longer.”

Though her feet move, her mind does not; stuck on repeat, replaying over and over how she might have misconstrued their interactions, his eager response. How far has she deluded herself into feeling—believing there has been a pull between them—when in fact it’s been something much more sinister? Though he doesn’t enter the building with her, she still heads for his room, needing at least some form of consistency. There it is she finally allows herself to feel, cheeks burning with the hot sting of tears. What a fool she is; thinking herself wanted, even needed. How utterly useless she finds herself once again, fooling around in a village she could never call home. As she undresses, she traces her fingers along her skin, watches it glow beneath the moon. If anything she’s been reminded, revived in a sense, and she knows the stuttering embers within her long for nourishment. She steps out of her dress, leaves it crumpled, and without hesitation slips beneath the blankets, feeling their friction against her bared form, wishing instead it were him engulfing her, and prepares for a night without sleep.

* * *

Morning washes over her with painful clarity, and for the first time since Naruto’s wedding, the thought of Gaara scares her. Sober but tired, the misguided longing she’d felt has been replaced by fear. Not of him harming her, no, most of all she fears the shame of rejection. With the light of day cleansing the room of its secrecy, she feels almost perverse in its silence—her not belonging here has never been so clearly felt. She washes up, dresses, cleans her skin and covers it up, shields away the tremor of its wishes. Whatever she thought she’d wanted, it’s clear she’s been clinging to something never meant to be hers. No, there’s a life already planned out for her, a future she’s long since promised herself. Today, if anything, at least that much will be proven, and she’s almost grateful to Naruto for his well-timed intervention—before she could have lost more of herself in the illusion of change.

It doesn’t surprise her to find Gaara absent from the breakfast-table, nor does she start at Sasuke’s appearance at their door. She takes note of the inquiring looks the sand-siblings throw her way, but doesn’t indulge them. Her mask is well-tailored in its familiarity, and its deceit suits her like an old friend. She thanks Temari as she passes, hands her the dress she borrowed, then steps outside without looking back, joining the tall figure of Sasuke. Though she feels Temari’s gaze prickle her skin, she pretends not to notice, instead turning to offer her old teammate a smile. Probably sensing Sakura’s distant demeanour, Temari wishes them well, closing the door with a hesitant click. The early morning offers her its pleasant cool, the sun still busy shedding off the remains of night.

“Gaara told me I’d find you here,” Sasuke starts, pushing his hands into his pockets, shoulders sloped, his entire posture a picture of calm. “I thought it best we talked before I’m off on patrol.”

She nods, at least grateful not to be forced to wait.

He glances to the side, takes a moment before speaking again, appears to mull over something. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” she says, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice.

He grunts, meets her gaze, reminds her he’s nearly a stranger; onyx eyes nothing like those she’s allowed herself to get used to. “I passed a place on the way here. Come.”

It’s not a question, and why should it be? She’d never refuse the offer, somehow her obedience is self-evident, and his assumption of it shouldn’t irk her—in the past, sometime before his note, she’d have rejoiced at the words. He starts to walk, and she’s quick to follow, falling into step beside him. His legs are longer than hers, his pace bordering on impatient. They remain silent for a while, passing through the streets together, earning several curious looks. She thinks this is how it should be; to be out with him, planning something as mundane as breakfast. She tries to find that flicker of pride she’d always felt at being seen with Sasuke, the excited swell of her heart at the novelty of his companionship, but comes up empty handed, unable to channel the excitement associated with him—she blames her nerves, writes it off as being overwhelmed after so long.

“It’s nice of the Kazekage to invite you into his home,” Sasuke says, and though the words are friendly, his tone carries an air of annoyance.

She rubs her arm, allows her eyes to stray, tries to subdue the stutter of her pulse. “Yes—he’s been very gracious.”

“Hn.” She feels him study her before saying: “I didn’t know you enjoyed his company.”

She feels the pendant around her neck, twists it between her fingers. “We’ve been getting to know each other.”

“Yet he upset you.”

She freezes, thinks he means their kiss, then realises he must mean her coming here, and wonders what Naruto told him. “No, it was petty, really—I wasn’t myself.”

Another grunt. “And are you more yourself now?” There’s a mocking edge to his voice.

“I don’t know.” She might have been, had he not always been away, and the realisation of it spreads a heat through her blood.

“I’m glad he’s been so accommodating—“ somehow she doubts it, “—he seems to have taken quite a liking to you.”

She remains silent, fights against the scowl threatening on her brow.

“Then again, you’ve always been unable to resist a lost cause to keep busy.”

Lost? Could he really be so cruel as to misrepresent both Gaara and she so painfully, or is he only trying to evoke some sort of reaction? She clenches her teeth, forces out a breath, reminds herself she’s talking to the man she loves. “Yes, that’s right.” And hates herself for it.

This appears to please him, his step a little lighter, his head a little higher. In the back of her mind there’s a voice again, screaming its disagreements, scolding her for her complacency. She ignores it, drowns it out with thoughts only of her companion; their childhood together, and it’s almost enough to evoke a flicker of feeling. They find a little cafe, and join the villagers enjoying their breakfast, their unfamiliar presence drawing plenty of attention—or perhaps it’s just Sasuke. A waiter takes their orders, their time waiting spent in uncomfortable silence. Sasuke appears deep in thought, gaze faraway as he watches people pass by their window, onyx eye glazed over. It allows for Sakura to study him more, the day of light revealing someone older than she remembers, the first lines of age marring his sun-kissed skin. It becomes him; his features sharper, more elegant, sanded into perfect proportions by time itself. There’s a calculated precision in the handsome shapes of his face, an unfeeling beauty. He’s perfect—which doesn’t excite her like it used to.

His attention returns once their food arrives, his eye sharp as it inspects her, leaving an itch in its place. Though self-conscious, she brings herself to take a bite, trying not to let her discomfort show.

“You’ve matured,” he notes, and she’s uncertain whether it’s a compliment or not, but thanks him nonetheless. Following her example, he joins her in eating, relieving some of the awkwardness. She wonders what he wants from her, why Naruto’s calling was needed for him to return—why her wishing it wasn’t enough. When he speaks again, he doesn’t hesitate to come to the point: “I think it’s time I start a family.” I, she notes, not we. “You know, more than anyone, how important family is to me.” Reviving the clan, yes, family, perhaps not so much. His hand reaches for hers, covers it with long fingers, dwarfs it in comparison. “I know we haven’t seen much of each other, and I understand if me proposing might be too sudden.” She’s unable to swallow, the throb of her pulse painfully violent, closing up her throat. “Perhaps dinner, tonight, might be a good place to start.” It’s an offer; a proper date, a true relationship. No more charades, pretending to love the ghost of a man—his hand is warm atop hers, his skin rough with callouses—he’s here. But will he stay?

She nods, averts her gaze, takes in the sight of their joined limbs, and can’t help but feel overshadowed. “I’d like that,” she says, burying whatever objections her inner voice thinks of shouting next.

He releases her, apparently pleased with his results, immediately dropping all unnecessary effort. “I’m glad Naruto informed me of your being here,” he goes on, his voice a disingenuous sound, “it hasn’t been easy for me, returning to Konoha.” She chews up his words, digests their meaning, sees them for the vapid excuses they are and doesn’t respond, instead waits for him to continue. “He told me you’d been distressed.” There’s a pause, and her eyes flick up to meet his; thoughts walled off by pits of black. “It made me realise I should have been there to protect you.”

Protect her... from who if not himself? Could it be he thinks her too weak to handle life without him? After all, she can’t think of any other reason for her distress than him. She wants to tell him she doesn’t need protecting, to remind him of just how strong she’s gotten—but she’s brought to question her own capabilities by the tremble of her hands, the dry scratch of her throat. She can’t even speak her mind, let alone stand up for herself. “Did he mention anything else?” she asks instead, bringing her drink to her lips, finding comfort behind its cover.

Sasuke leans back, observes her again. “He thought you were dating Gaara.” He tips his head, narrows his eye. “Are you?”

She freezes, and it seems he mistakes her pallor for disgust, rather than surprise. “No.”

There’s the hint of a smirk on his lips. “That’s what I thought.” The assumption irks her, annoyance bubbling beneath her skin. “Though I’ll admit last night had me questioning myself. After all, you’ve always looked best in a dress. It’d be hard for anyone not to notice.” This time she flushes, feels herself shrink beneath his constant stare. “But then I remembered the Kazekage isn’t just anyone, is he?” He leans forward, rests his chin in his hand. “In fact, I don’t think he’s much more than a tool, even now, and I doubt he’s capable of such feelings.” Her palms are cold and clammy, her cheeks hot with anger. “Do you know how he got that scar?”

“Do you?” she snaps.

“I’ve heard stories.” He averts his gaze, returns his attention to the streets. “I just thought you should know: he’s incapable of loving another.” His eye snaps back to hers, piercing her with its intensity. “Including you.” In that moment she believes him; believes herself foolish for ever thinking otherwise. She’s reminded of their kiss, its abrupt end and Gaara’s confession. The memory of carved skin throbs upon her fingertips; etched strokes of crimson as if written in blood. Love, to her, seems incongruous with murder, yet that’s what he was afraid he’d do; kill her. “Don’t take it personally,” Sasuke continues, “you can’t help his nature.” You can’t help anyone, can you?

She swallows, nods, doesn’t move to finish her meal. She’s nauseous, feels a painful pang in her gut. All this time, she’s been nothing but a burden. How could anyone want to keep her around? Even so, Sasuke, for all his own shortcomings, shows her more grace than she deserves.

“I’ll need to head out soon. How about I tell you about my travels at dinner? I’ll pick you up at six.”

She manages a smile, thinks him sharing his experiences a nice gesture, and—for the first time in a long time—feels like she’s welcomed into his life. “I’ll be ready,” she promises, watches him call for the waiter with fresh eyes, and finds herself hoping she isn’t wrong in thinking they might be genuinely happy together.

* * *

Who is she? The questions seems so simple, mundane, almost. What person in their twenties wouldn’t be able to answer it? Yet an answer, even now, alludes her. She doesn’t know, and doubts she ever has. Without Sasuke, could she ever be anyone at all? She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to dwell on these shortcomings—but what she wants even less is to be reminded of who she almost became. So she doesn’t return to Gaara’s home, avoids all interaction with his siblings. Instead she does what she knows best, what has always helped her forget herself. The streets are coming alive, children running along the sand, adults watching on with mirth. Families are everywhere, and she promises herself she’ll be one of them soon. She’ll finally be someone then; a parent, a mother. She’ll have exactly what she’s always wanted, and, if Sasuke’s serious about his offer, with the person she’s always wanted. Though there’s none of the giddy excitement she expected to feel, she’s sure it’ll be there soon enough; how could she not be happy?

When she enters Suna hospital, the familiar scent welcomes her home; this is where she belongs. The nurses recognise her straight away, attend her with the respect deserving of her status. It’s the kind of affirmation she needs, and they don’t hesitate to make use of her willingness to work, assuring her there’s plenty to be done. She can tell her presence is greatly appreciated, her vast knowledge a valuable contribution. While attending the injured, she’s finally able to clear her mind, forgetting all of her worries. She works herself to exhaustion, declines all offers of taking a break; she’ll rest when the day ends and there’s no one awake to need her. It’s easy to get along with her fellow nurses, their passion evident in their tireless efforts. Before the end of the day, she’s gotten well-acquainted with several of them, nearly forgetting how far from home she actually is. They laugh in between patients, and even find time to tease each other. They talk about everything; their academy life, their reasons for becoming a medic, their dreams for the future. It leaves Sakura in much better spirits, and she almost forgets her nerves for the coming evening—almost, because much too soon she reaches the end of her shift, and she knows she’ll have to face reality again.

The sun hangs low when she exits the hospital, the afternoon heat already coming to a cool. She knows she’ll have to stop by Gaara’s house, eager to wash off a day’s worth of work, but dreads coming face to face with the redhead—assuming he’s home. She assures herself he won’t be, aware of his reputation as a workaholic. Still, his siblings will likely be there to greet her, and she’s unsure what to say if they ask where she’s going. It’s not that she owes them anything, so the truth shouldn’t be a problem. Yet there’s a nagging sense of guilt, twisting at her insides. She thinks of Temari and her infectious laughter, Kankuro and his unique humour, and can’t help but feel like she doesn’t deserve their hospitality. She’s not a part of their family, and she figures, after tonight, she should arrange for another place to stay—or better yet, head back to Konoha where she belongs. After all, there’s nothing here for her, and she thinks she’d do both Gaara and she a favour by leaving; if he’s unstable because of her, she’d hate to prolong his torment.

Yes, after tonight, she returns home. She takes a breath, reaches the front door, and prepares herself to face whatever awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you guys so much for the lovely reviews and comments! I truly appreciate them a lot and I get excited reading them every time. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? As some of you might have noticed I’ve been struggling with my health these past few months, and as I was working on this chapter I was finally diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. I’m very relieved to know where my pain has been coming from, and to finally be receiving treatment. I’ve been put on steroids, which have vastly improved my condition, and I’m actually feeling quite good right now. I’ve had to take a break from writing for a while, as I was too ill, but I’m happy to continue this and hope you guys are too. So let me know what you think, and hopefully you’ll be as excited as I am for the upcoming chapters!


	12. Incapable of love

“Hey! I’d been wondering where you went.”

She freezes, forges a friendly smile. “Oh, I’ve been helping out at the hospital.” Guilt, why does she feel all this guilt?

“That’s very generous of you.” A pause, then: “What does Gaara think about it? I’m sure he must be grateful.”

She falters, feels her heart stutter. “To be honest I haven’t seen him yet. I think he’s busy right now—I actually have to get ready too.” Gaara, she kissed Gaara. The Kazekage. Suna’s weapon. A tool.

“You’re leaving again?”

She pauses, chews her lip, averts her gaze. “Well, yes. Sasuke’s taking me to dinner, he wants us to catch up. We haven’t seen each other in months, you know.” Incapable of love. Blood-red, jagged skin. It’s a scar, cut into flesh.

Temari doesn’t reply straight away, instead she stares for a while before clearing her throat. “Of course. Please, don’t let me hold you up; you must be dying for refreshment after such a long day.”

She nods just a little too quickly, hopes the blonde doesn’t notice. “Thank you, you’re right.” She starts walking, hesitates, adds: “Have a nice evening!” A scar, for all the world to see: love written in blood.

“You too, Sakura,” Temari says. “Oh! And if you do run into Gaara, tell him I’ve been looking for him.”

She manages a smile, brittle as bones. “Will do...” Kill her, he’d said; a being incapable of love, shaped by coarse sand, murderous intent—right? A tool for the slaughter with claws of dust, burying her until she could breathe no more. Her feet are leaden, weighed down by the imminent revelation of his rejection—what will Temari do once she knows? She shakes those thoughts, locks them away, smothered and secret, thinks of it no more. She heads for his room, decides now would be a good time to move her possessions; she won’t be staying there anymore. She packs everything up, doesn’t look beyond her own belongings, refuses to be reminded, yet can’t help the look of longing she sends his bed—their sanctuary, almost.

_“Why do you trust me?”_

She averts her gaze, takes her bags, releases a shaky breath. What had been the point? She wonders at there even being one, supposes perhaps neither of them know. She carries everything to the guest-room, drops down on the bed, fills her lungs with air devoid of him, and can’t help but feel hollowed by his absence.

* * *

His eye flicks down her body, takes in her appearance without comment, expression unchanging. She wonders if she should have worn a dress; he’d said he liked it, right? She shifts her weight, wraps her arms around herself, offers him a nervous smile.

“Let’s go,” he says as he turns, waiting for her to follow. She does, tucking her hair behind her ear, attempting to subdue the slight trembling of her hands. The sun has started to lower, casting the world in hues of orange, washing the midnight blues from Sasuke’s hair and transforming it to a shade of brown. It suits him, she thinks, imagining the added warmth to somehow reach inside him.

“How have your patrols been?” she tries, hoping to fill the heavy silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing the drum of her heart.

“There were some casualties today. We’re supposed to find the culprits.” He doesn’t glance her way, instead stares straight ahead; into the crowd of people, observing their faces.

“Sounds horrible.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t like it; whoever’s responsible is ruthless.” She’s affronted at the confidence behind his statement, doesn’t like the way he assumes her feelings. “At any rate I’m glad you’re not involved.” Does he think her too weak, too easily frightened?

_“You are one of the bravest shinobi I have ever met.”_

She swallows, eagerly changes the topic. “I’ve volunteered at the hospital,” she offers with a smile, relieved to see him catch the expression.

“You have?” He raises a brow, returns his eye to the road. “I suppose they would appreciate the extra hands. You’re a decent medic.” Decent? After all her efforts, is that what he really thinks? It disappoints her, leaves her feeling unusually vexed—though she’s never thought too highly of herself, surely she deserves more credit, doesn’t she?

_“You have too many talents to be jealous of anyone else’s.”_

No. She silences those memories, forces them from her mind. Sasuke is right: she hates ruthlessness and she should be glad she’s not involved in such a dangerous mission—besides, she’s definitely not the best medic out there, decent is a gracious enough label. She offers another smile, rubs her arm. “Yes, I’ve been enjoying it a lot. The people here are very nice, and I’ve already made several friends with the nurses.”

“Hn.” He nods, halts his walk, raises a hand towards the building on his right. “We’re here.”

She starts, snaps her gaze to the entrance, recognises the familiar restaurant. “Of course,” she smiles sheepishly, feels her cheeks warm.

He holds the door for her, causing her blush to deepen, her teeth digging into her lip as she thanks him. This is it, she reminds herself, their first actual date, all she’s ever wanted. The thought fills her with giddy excitement, her hands jittery and skin hot. They’re shown to their seats by a waiter, placed not too far from where Sakura dined with the sand-siblings. Her eyes purposely avoid the area, not wanting to be distracted; this night is all about Sasuke and she. They place their orders, and it’s much easier to forget about the redhead so long as she focuses on her company; eyes roaming his sun-kissed features, the way his hair covers his face, the straight line of his lips. The soft lighting of the restaurant suits him, smooths out the sharp contours of his chiseled appearance, awards him a more sympathetic countenance. That is, until he starts speaking.

“Have you seen the Kazekage today?”

She stiffens, feels a familiar weight in her chest.“No... I’ve been too busy.” She doesn’t want to think about him, not right now, but the mention brings forth a flood of memories—his voice, his scent, his lips. She finds herself touching her own, wondering how it could be she still tastes him upon them.

Sasuke nods. “I couldn’t find him after this morning. I thought the two of you were friends.”

Friends, nothing more. She recalls him saying he doesn’t want a relationship, reminding herself of his frankness, thinking he’d at least been truthful from the start—Gaara is painfully honest...

_“Sometimes it’s those who don’t want it who need it the most.”_

No. Kill her, those were his words. He was losing control, all because of her, and she reminds herself; Gaara is a weapon, incapable of love, raised to kill. He’s admitted as much, spoke of how he hurt a lot of people—including her. She clears her throat, forces a smile, quickly changes the topic: “I’ve been thinking I should head back home tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not here on a mission, and since my departure was rather sudden I’m sure I’m missed at the hospital and...”

“Stay.” She’s waiting for him to say he’d like her to, but it never comes.

She shakes her head, forces her voice past the lump in her throat. “You could come with me, you know, return together.”

Their food arrives, interrupting their conversation, her suggestion left in the air between them. She watches his expression, awaits the eagerness she’s sure to be there. Instead he narrows his eye, leans forward, folds his hands before his lips. “I’m not planning on returning to Konoha just yet.”

She falters, looks down at her plate, notes the turning of her stomach despite its savoury contents. “Still, I think I should. My responsibilities are there.”

“What’s another few days? I’m sure they can manage without you.” His voice is sharper than she likes, a hint of annoyance audible in its tone.

She frowns, continues to look down, feels her face heat, an uncomfortable pang shooting through her chest. “Yes, but I don’t-“

“You’re with me, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?” What if it isn’t anymore? “I prefer this,” he continues, “to be alone with you.” No one to meddle, she thinks. His hand covers hers, fingers wrapping around her palm. “I’d like for us to become more than friends.”

She doubts they were truly friends to begin with, but shakes those mutinous thoughts. “Sasuke, I...”

“Sakura,” he interrupts, tilts his head to catch her eye, “I’m serious. Do you think you could do it? Give me a chance, that is.”

She meets his gaze, feels his thumb stroke her hand, believes the sincerity of his request. She takes a deep breath, glances at their joined limbs, thinks how odd it feels to have him touch her. “Of course,” she says, willing herself to give in to it—accept this stranger’s skin.

He smiles, releases her, picks up his chopsticks. “I’m happy to hear it.” She should be happy too. “It’s been on my mind a lot,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking about my future. What it is I want moving forward.” She nods, follows his example, feels glad on his behalf. “Atoning for what I’ve done has been my priority, but...” he pauses, rests his chin in his palm, and she feels this is the most transparant he’s ever been. “I also need my clan. A family, a home to return to. In short, I need you in my life, Sakura.”

It’s a lot of responsibility, she can’t help but think. Two people could hardly be considered a clan, even if you throw a baby in the mix. She understands his need for a family, agrees it would do him good to move on—but could reviving the clan even be considered as such? “I’m honoured,” she says instead, fingers trailing down her neck, coming to rest above her heart, surprised to feel the golden pendant. She flinches away from its touch, quickly tries to squash the emotions it awakens. “You could start by telling me about your travels, first?” It’s the only form of distraction she can think of.

He complies, tells her all about the places he’s been, the people he’s helped. She can tell, even though he doesn’t quite show it, how much his travels—and the lives impacted—mean to him. It’s the first thing to make her genuinely smile, and she listens on with rapt attention, appreciative of his desire to make a difference in the world.

* * *

He doesn’t touch her as they walk, instead keepshis distance, the space between them filled with questions. Why now? Why her? Why here? She’s agreed to stay a few more days, reasoning she could at least continue to work, thinking how much she enjoys helping out. Still, every additional day in Suna increases the likelihood of encountering Gaara, and she isn’t sure she could handle the humiliation. The longer they’re apart, the more she’s convinced of her having ruined their friendship, and she wonders if he’d ever have kissed her if she hadn’t pushed for it—most likely not.

“You don’t have to continue to stay here,” Sasuke says, shaking her from her thoughts. “There’s still rooms available in my hotel.”

They’ve arrived at the Kazekage mansion, its tall form looming over them. “Thank you,” she replies, thinking he’s right; she shouldn’t be here, even if it feels like home. “I’ll see if I can arrange for a room tomorrow, take my time to gather my things.”

“You could take them now. I could wait here.”

She freezes, finds herself at a loss for words, tucks her hair behind her ear. “I... I don’t know, it’s so sudden.”

He shrugs, tips his head. “It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? You staying with two single men?”

“They’re my friends.” Except they’re not—how well does she even know Kankuro? They’re acquaintances at best, and as for Gaara, well... her staying with him could definitely be considered strange, especially after what happened. But Sasuke doesn’t know that, does he? No, she assures herself, he would never think it; he’s already implied as much. “I like Temari a lot. I’m sure she’d be disappointed to see me leave so soon.”

Sasuke turns away, eye directed down the street with an unreadable look. She wonders what goes through his mind, his features kept perfectly composed, filling her with an increasing sense of uncertainty as time wears on. “Alright,” he finally says, pausing before returning his attention to her, a coldness in his eye she thinks wasn’t there before. “You’ve changed.” Though said without emotion, she can’t help but be convinced it’s no compliment. “I’ll see you around.”

What did he mean? Was he disappointed with her? He starts moving, and she stops herself from reaching out, her every thought weighed down by shame—what is she supposed to say? Could it be he’d expected her to jump at the opportunity of being closer to him? It’s not that she doesn’t want to, just that she’s become so used to deciding for herself.

_“You’re always allowed to grow from who you’ve been, and anyone opposed doesn’t love you as much as they love the idea of you.”_

“Hey, Sakura!”

She starts at the sound of Temari’s voice, whips around to face the blonde in the doorway. “Hey,” she rushes, noticing the emotion in her voice, mortified to be caught in such a state.

It doesn’t escape Temari’s attention, the sympathy in her eyes too much for Sakura to bear. “Are you okay?” she asks, inching closer, ignoring the retreating Uchiha.

No. She’s not okay, not at all. But how is she supposed to explain all she’s feeling without revealing the horrible mess that is her life? She shakes her head, opens and closes her mouth several times, finds no words to say. The silence is deafening, the painful beat of her heart throbbing behind her eyes. It’s all messed up, ruined, and she has no idea if there had been something to ruin in the first place. Either way, it’s painfully evident Gaara managed to get under her skin, crept into the lonely corners of her mind, filled her with ideas discordant to everything she used to think true. How could she ever settle for less than everything he’s made her believe? Yet she has to, feels trapped in someone else’s dream, someone else’s idea of what her life should be. Caught up in a promise made by a different her. A stinging, followed by a familiar warmth rolling down her cheeks, leaving trails of salt, hitting the sand beneath her feet. She’s not okay—hasn’t been for years.

“I kissed Gaara,” she croaks, the image of Temari blurred by tears, distorting her expression.

“You...” the blonde pauses, appears at a loss, finally wraps her in her arms. “Oh, Sakura...” she mumbles, tightening her grip. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

She nods through the shaking of her shoulders, the dysfunction of her lungs, her breathing fast and shallow—it’s all coming down, every single thought like poison, slicing through her insides. He rejected her. Said he’d kill her. Losing control, all because of her. Stupid, stupid, silly little wants.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Temari soothes, running a hand down Sakura’s back, guiding her through silent hallways. “You’ll be okay.”

What if she won’t? What if this pain fills all her days? Her future, spent in all the wrong places. It’s a dark, ravenous little thing, splitting her heart and mind, brimming her eyes with tears yet to spill. She’d vocalise these fears, if only her throat hadn’t been choked up, her voice lost somewhere along the way. Instead she merely continues shaking her head, feels the warmth of Temari wash over her, reducing her to a shivering child, too naive and selfish to know any better. They enter the living area, drop down on the couch, Temari’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders. She’s relieved to see neither brother is there, unsure what she would have done otherwise.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” Temari offers softly, using her sleeve to wipe at Sakura’s tears, apparently not minding the stains.

She’s terrified; fears the blonde’s anger might come any second. “I messed up!” she cries, averts her gaze in shame, uses her knuckles to clear the mascara from her cheeks, sees it stick to her skin in black clumps.

“What makes you think that?” She doesn’t deserve Temari’s kindness, nor patience, and her awareness of these facts only worsens the heat creeping up her spine.

“Just- everything. I don’t know!” Sasuke was right. She should have packed up and left, could have avoided all this humiliation. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

“You kissed Gaara?” She did—it’s almost unreal, thinking about it.

“Yes, I’m so sorry,” she rushes, braces herself for the judgement she’s sure to come.

“Hey now, don’t be,” Temari soothes instead. “When did this happen?”

She sniffles, glances into the blonde’s eyes to make sure there’s no anger, feels some of the weight start to lift. “Last night—it was stupid! We both had too much to drink, we were idiots and...” It’s like she’s talking about a dream, something not quite there. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her, yet Temari doesn’t question her, instead listens attentively. Sakura pauses, forces herself to breathe, release, then allows everything to be flushed clean from inside her, spills it in a single stream of thought: “And then Sasuke had to show up and tell me he wants to marry me and have a child together but I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore especially since I keep thinking about Gaara and all these things he’s told me keep echoing through my mind even though I know he doesn’t want anything to do with me after last night when he said he’d kill me and-“

“Woah, slow down,” Temari interrupts, continues to rub her back, eyes wide after the sudden outpour of information. “What do you mean, kill you?” The concern in her voice is unmistakable, and it only confirms Sakura’s fears: he must have meant it.

“He said he was confused, believed he was losing control.” She releases a shaky breath, runs her hands down her arms. “He told me he wouldn’t be around because he didn’t want to kill me.”

Temari looks shocked at the revelation, at a momentary loss for words as she processes the information, deep creases settling between her brows. “He wouldn’t say such a thing without being absolutely serious,” she reasons, eyes traveling across the room. “But he’s hasn’t struggled for years, not since Shukaku’s removal. It’s unlike him and it doesn’t make any sense.” She sighs, wearily rubs her face.

“It’s my fault,” Sakura croaks, feeling fresh tears start to well, “I shouldn’t have pushed, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t blame yourself; he wouldn’t want that.”

She laughs, a hollow sound, exposing her disbelief.

_“You didn’t do anything wrong.”_

Of course she didn’t—of course he’d take the blame. A monster, that’s what they’d always called him, incapable of love. How could he believe otherwise? How was he to understand if she was the monster, instead?

“I’m serious, Sakura. I know my brother, and I’ve never seen him the way he is with you.” Temari takes her hand, holds it tightly. “Now I don’t know anything about Sasuke, but whatever you decide, believe me when I tell you my brother clearly cares very deeply for you.”

_“And my favourite person is you.”_

Impossible. Ridiculous. She shakes her head, feels the familiar ache of her heart, instinctively reaches for it, only to find the pendant— _his_ pendant—and crumbles at the memory of his soothing presence. Temari pulls her into an embrace, rests her chin atop her head as she shushes her, allows Sakura’s distress without complaint.

“Give him some time,” the blonde whispers, “he’ll come around; he always does.”

And then what? Even if all turns out alright, what becomes of Sasuke and her? How is she supposed to tell him she’s haunted by another?

“Let’s forget about these men,” Temari proposes, “have some ice cream, instead.”

Sakura laughs, wipes at her eyes, and sniffles: “I think I’d like that very much.” She allows herself to relax in the blonde’s company, momentarily able to push her sorrows aside—at least for the night. Whatever the coming days may bring, she’s convinced Temari won’t judge her for any of it, which she finds is enough to soften her pain.

* * *

Sasuke doesn’t come for her the following morning, and she’s surprised by the relief she feels at his absence. She eats breakfast with the sand-siblings, grateful neither of them remark on Gaara’s continued disappearance, then heads for the hospital, excited to be able to forget herself in her work. Her fellow nurses already greet her like an old friend, welcome her with enough smiles to warrant one of her own—and she thinks, if things weren’t so complicated, she could have been happy here, doing what she loves. She takes on as many shifts as she’s allowed, stays well-past her usual hours, watches the sun disappear beyond circular windows. It’s late at night when she returns home, greeted by Temari, who makes her dinner and suggests they enjoy a good movie. It’s peaceful, surprisingly easy to settle into, and Sakura could almost forget her original reason for being here.

Several days pass this way; without a single trace of either man. The guest-room starts to feel like her own, and the hospital eagerly grants her more responsibilities, allowing her to take charge wherever she wants. She starts being recognised in the streets, able to strike up easy conversation with many of the ninja she’s helped, a sense of fulfilment washing over her with every happy smile she’s awarded. She’s aware things can’t remain this way, knows she has to go home sometime—sooner rather than later, in fact—and it’s on the fifth day she decides she should leave the following morning. She tells Temari this, who—thankfully—understands, even if she’ll miss having her friend around. She promises not to work too late that day, and finishes her final shift early in the afternoon.

When she steps out the hospital, she’s surprised to find Sasuke at the door, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, looking more uncomfortable than she’s ever seen him.

“Hey,” she replies, shifting her weight, unsure what to make of his sudden appearance. In a way she still feels a sense of guilt for letting him down, part of her thinking she deserved his neglect these past days.

“These are for you.” He quickly offers the flowers, which she accepts with hesitant hands, their weight heavier than expected.

“Thank you...” she mumbles, inspecting the fresh collection, noting their beauty, thinking it’s a very sweet gesture on his part.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, looking at anything but her, his voice softer than usual. “Patrols and such.”

“Of course.”

He falls silent, clears his throat, crosses his arms. They stand there for a while, warmed by the afternoon sun, its balmy touch softening Sakura’s resolve, easing some of the stiffness from her body. “Listen. I know I’m not always the best at understanding others,” he finally starts, meeting her eye with his own. “You’ve changed, and—frankly—I don’t quite know what to expect from you anymore.” She fumbles with the flowers, takes in everything he says with large eyes—she has no idea where he’s going, what it is he wants, and she finds herself studying his features with genuine interest. “But I’d like to try—to understand this Sakura, I mean.”

It’s not what she’d expected to happen; this complete turnaround on his part. She takes a minute to study him, search for anything to indicate deceit, but finds him genuine in his offer. She welcomes the smile spreading across her lips, hoping perhaps she’ll start feeling different; maybe the two of them could work out, after all.

“Would you... would you have dinner with me, tonight?”

She’s a bit taken aback by the offer, unsure how to respond. She’d promised Temari they’d spend the evening together, but she doesn’t doubt the blonde would want her to figure out her feelings above all else. “I’m not really dressed for the occasion,” she admits, glancing down at her work outfit.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, “you look fine.” She notices her own lips curving in response, the warmth she feels no longer the sun’s only.

“Alright.” She blushes, pulling the flowers closer to her chest. “I’ll just leave these here for now. I can pick them up later.”

He nods, patiently waits for her to return. Inside, the nurses are all huddled together in excitement, watching her enter through poorly-concealed giggles. She shakes her head in their direction, sends them an exasperated smile as she places the flowers in a sink. It’s thrilling, to be the chosen one, the girl going out—she feels more like a woman now. When she leaves, she ignores their excited cries, opens the door with composed features—cheeks flushed nonetheless. Sasuke hasn’t moved, awaits her with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. He’s undeniably handsome, dressed in black, his tall figure a sharp contrast to the brightness of noon. Though she feels a bit out of place by his side, she tries not to think too much of it, reminding herself he’d told her she’d looked fine; it’s a rare thing for Sasuke to offer a compliment, and she holds onto it with both hands.

They head out, the streets of Suna slowly starting to fill with people, familiar faces offering her smiles and waves. It seems even Sasuke’s grown somewhat acquainted, nodding his head at several passersby.

“Tell me,” he suddenly speaks up, “how have you been?”

“I’ve been okay,” she says. “Temari’s been a great friend. We’ve had a lot of fun together these past few days.”

“Hn,” he hums, gazes down the street. “Her brothers haven’t been around?”

“Just Kankuro, though he too has been busy.”

He nods. “I’ve seen him a few times. On patrol, that is.”

“Any closer to finding the culprits?”

He shakes his head, chews the inside of his cheek. “Not really.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, I-“

Red. It sticks out like a sore thumb, draws the attention with staggering ease. The throb of her heart turns almost painful, rushes through her ears with a deafening slosh. It takes her a while to notice the hand slipping in hers, pulling her closer, Sasuke’s stare narrowing at the moving Kazekage. Matsuri is there too, along with two other ninja she doesn’t know. They cross paths, their group coming to a halt in front of them, the three ninja bowing to Sasuke as they greet him, and she wondere if these are the people he runs his patrols with. She takes her time studying their faces—not so much because she thinks it important, more-so to avoid the pale gaze amongst them. Which is silly, when she thinks about it; she should be relieved to finally see Gaara, rejoice in this opportunity to get answers. She allows her eyes to find him, feels the rush of her pulse beneath her skin, worries for a second Sasuke might notice through the touch of their palms. He’s thin, looks tired—fragile, she thinks, much too small a person to carry whatever worries rest on his narrow shoulders.

“Kazekage-sama,” Sasuke greets before her mind’s caught up, surprising her.

Gaara simply nods, doesn’t speak, his eyes unusually distant. More than anything, she wants him to say something, acknowledge her—show he still cares.

“Oh, Sakura! I’ve been hoping to see you again,” Matsuri grins, stepping closer. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about sparring with you.”

“Oh, right,” she sends the girl an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry! I’m afraid I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“What, no way!” Matsuri pouts.

“I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted,” Sasuke notes, studying the brunette more closely.

“We’ve met on several occasions—are the two of you going out for dinner?” she replies with a wink.

It’s Sasuke who answers before Sakura gets a chance. “We are.”

“That’s so nice, I’m starving,” Matsuri complains, shoulders slumped. She turns to Gaara, then. “Oh I know, we could join them! It would be like a double-date.”

Sakura is about to protest when Gaara beats her to it. “No,” he says, simple as that, then turns to her, causing her pulse to stutter, legs numb. “Thank you for your service at the hospital, Suna is in your debt once again.” He bows his head, and when he raises his gaze there’s nothing; not a single shred of the Gaara she thought she knew. “I wish you a safe journey home.”

“Thank you,” she mutters, fingers wrapping around the pendant, its cooling touch the only physical reminder of something long lost.

“You’re free to go too, Uchiha,” he continues, turning to Sasuke. “Your help has been appreciated.” The other ninjas nod at the words, shaking the Sharingan-user’s hand, confirming Sakura’s earlier suspicion. She’s waiting—hoping still—to catch the tiniest glimpse, an indication of warmth, but none follows. “Goodbye.”

_“I’ll miss you.”_

It’s probably better this way, she has herself believing; it never could have worked. Sasuke’s hand is warm in hers, and she reminds herself of that fact. She should be grateful, happy even, to have someone else make these choices for her.

“Bye, Sakura, Sasuke,” Matsuri throws over her shoulder as they leave, waving at them a final time. Gaara doesn’t look back, the red of his hair slowly disappearing in the crowd. Yes, it’s better this way. For both of them. He obviously still has Matsuri, if he ever were to change his mind about relationships. There’d be no reason for him to be lonely, none for either of them. This is how it always should have been. Her hand grows cold, and when she looks down she sees Sasuke’s has gone without her noticing.

“Let’s go,” he says, already continuing their path, glancing her way to see if she follows.

She’s frozen, still, finds her eyes returning to where he stood—where he said goodbye. It’s better this way, even if she spends a lifetime missing him, too. She swallows, closes her eyes, releases the pendant, and musters a smile; if only to trick herself into believing it. “Yes,” she says, and follows, joins the man she promised to love, and swallows her tears.

* * *

She can tell he tries; asking her about her life, her parents and friends—it’s a complete turnaround from the self-centered Sasuke she’s used to. Still, there’s a nagging at the back of her mind, a creeping sense something’s off. It rears its ugly head whenever he falls into old habits; simple things like avoiding physical contact, or growing distant whenever things get too personal. It paints a picture she can’t quite seem to grasp, vague and elusive, yet the more she tries to ignore it, the louder it gets: why did he want to stay here? What was the point if he wasn’t going to see her for several days? Then when he does, they just so happen to run into Gaara? It’s all too coincidental, the odds strangely unlikely. But, she reminds herself, this is Gaara’s home, and the probability of seeing him around is likely very high—she’s just been cooped up in the hospital too often to notice. Yet she still feels how his hand had held onto hers, the heat of his skin, eating away at her. Why?

The moon has already risen once they head home, turning the sand into grains of silver, glittering as they pass. Not once has he mentioned her departure the following day, and it strikes her as odd he wouldn’t at least offer to travel along. She reckons he might want to finish whatever’s he’s been working on, perhaps feeling personally responsible for catching the culprits—that must be it. It’s typical Sasuke; like his brother, he doesn’t hesitate to self-sacrifice for the greater good. It’s the thing she respects most about him—which is why she doesn’t ask for his reasons, not wanting him to feel guilty. Instead, their conversation focuses mostly on the future; how Sasuke wants nothing more than to leave the old Uchiha compound behind, reasoning it’s nothing but bad memories. She agrees, thinks it best to start afresh, somewhere new and untainted, and tries to imagine herself by his side.

It’s harder than she thought, and—without her noticing—they arrive at the Kazekage mansion. It’s Sasuke who informs her, jarring her from her reverie, his eye studying her features. They remain silent for a bit, both looking at the other in contemplation. Somehow, she feels like this might be the final step to something more, an initiation to all he’s promised—it’s in the air between them, an unspoken expectation she feels is obligatory. She can tell he knows it too, sees it in the decisive gleam of his eye, the resolute set of his shoulders. He leans closer, then, and she doesn’t stop him, doesn’t know how to feel or react. This is it, she thinks, the final plunge before it’s all decided, a confirmation of their agreement. When his lips touch hers, all she can think of is his confidence, the easiness with which he moves, how he takes without question something she had yet to offer. It’s just that, a touch of skin, his scent of cinders invading her senses, leaving ashes in her mouth. She pulls back, gazes into his midnight eye, meets with the reflection of her own uncertainty.

_“I don’t want to ruin it for you.”_

How he _had_ ruined it, completely and utterly; unmistakably wrecked, left her forever wanting—ruined in all the right ways.

“I’m sorry,” she says, backs away, “this isn’t right.” They’re not right, never will be. “I have to go.”It’ll never be better, this charade of love, these selfish desires—even if faced with losing everything, she’ll take it over the ghosts claiming her life, her dreams. She’s changed, more than even she realised, or was willing to acknowledge, and she couldn’t revert even if she tried. “I can’t be with you.” She moves, away from her past, and thinks—for once—she’s headed for her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! May 2021 be much better than its ugly little sibling 2020. I just had to finish this before January first, so I hope you all like it! In this chapter I mostly wanted to show how words and actions matter, and how they can actually make a huge difference in someone’s life. Sometimes all you need is a little positive affirmation to be able to remind yourself of your worth. I’ve also drawn direct inspiration from my own life for Sasuke: yes, people can be like this, even if they think they love you. Thank you for all the comments and reviews, I’ve enjoyed reading them a lot and I’ll reply tomorrow. ❤️ Are you excited for what comes next? I sure am. Let me know what you think, and again, thanks so much.


	13. All her heart

It’s his office she visits first, only to discover it deserted—reminding herself it’s what was to be expected. She talks to some of the ninja there, asks if they know where their leader went. No one does, every single one telling her he’d left hours ago and hasn’t returned—not only that, he’d told no one where he was going, either. It’s frustrating, but it’s her own fault really; he’d been right in front of her, and she’d said nothing. She heads out, stalks the streets in search of red, scours corner after corner, only to find beiges and browns. For a man as striking as him, he’s surprisingly hard to find. The moon doesn’t help her much, its silvery shine washing away most colours, turning everything into a muted sea of blues and greys. Still, she’s loathe to give up, determined to spend however long it takes on finding him. But the longer she searches, the emptier the streets become, Suna’s citizens slowly turning in for the night, leaving her in her own world of solitude. It’s an eerie little place, like the kind of cold you feel in your bones, bringing your joints to rattle, and with every step their haunting creaks grow louder.

She returns to his home in the dead of night, when the last villager has gone to sleep. There’s silence everywhere, magnifying her senses; her breathing like a howling wind, her heart like a violent drum. The lights have all been turned off, casting the mansion in shadows. Luckily her eyes have long since adjusted to the dark, and she finds her way with ease. Everyone’s already gone to bed, the living room deserted, swallowing her in its yawning emptiness. Outside, she’s surprised to hear the patter of rain, its drops creating a gentle rhythm against the windows, filling her with a sense of melancholy—there’s loneliness all around her, embedded into the walls, the empty furniture, and she tries imagining living like this; secluded. Within the shadows, she can almost imagine him residing, waiting for the world to wake again, wearing the darkness like a second skin.

She moves on, trails her fingers along walls to keep her bearings, feels the irregular patterns beneath their tips. Though she’s sceptical of his presence, she thinks there’s only one place left for her to look. She knows the way by heart, feels her feet follow a path she’s walked in her mind, over and over again. Its the racing of her pulse sending a shiver down her spine, causing a trembling in her hands. She holds her breath, afraid the noise might deafen her, chest filled with transitory courage. A door, and she carefully grasps its knob, empties her lungs in search of calm, turns it with the release of air. It opens, revealing more darkness beyond, interrupted only by the glow of moonlight. The rain has started beating down, clattering against the windows, matching the beat of her heart. She steps inside, feels her breath catch.

There’s sorrow all around her; weeping leaves and stems like broken bones, an empty room with stilted air, stuttering against her skin. He’s not there, probably hasn’t been for days. She slips through, still, closes the door behind her, shuts herself away. Inside are memories—feelings—crystalline in their clarity, sprinkled across its space. She nears the bed, feels herself still at the familiar photograph, left to linger on its covers. Their faces, illuminated by a glint of light, stare back at her. She takes a shuddery breath, reaches out a trembling hand, her throat growing tighter with every step, and wonders; had he brought it here? Her fingers trace along its surface, circle the red of his hair, her breath held so as not to disturb the image of them—and realises the happiness it captures. She was, right then and there, if only for a little while.

She allows herself to drop down, afraid her legs might fail her, her weight drawing wrinkles across the sheets, imprinting them with her presence—she feels guilty for disturbing the quiet here, fears she’s intruding, yet can’t bring herself to leave. Within this shelter of mourning, she finally permits herself to listen; the voice in her head, whispering certainties. She tilts the picture, studies his features, feels a warm fondness mingle with the bitter sting of his absence. All this time she’d been a liar, twisting facts into poor fiction, mixing wants with musts. The answers had been right in front of her, had started filling her heart ever since the wedding, their first dance. Even then, back when they were almost strangers, he’d been full of praise, reminding her what it feels like to be seen. Had she not taken his hand, would she ever have ended up here? Or would they have continued to live individual lives, at the edges of the other’s existence?

She takes in those vibrant eyes, wonders how often they might have gazed upon this very picture, questioning everything. Only to find her, hand in hand with another; a man she’d never told anyone she no longer loved. If only she’d opened up more, told of her conflicting thoughts. Incapable of love, yet it is love she sees in all he does; a love for his family, his friends, his people, his village. Unlike him, that’s what Temari had said. She has to believe it, has to think there’s something she’s missed, an explanation to his sudden change. She closes her eyes, listens to the rain, its steady rhythm lulling her into a state of contemplation. She remains adrift for a while, allows her mind to wander the possibilities, pictures a reality without secrets. If only she knew where to find him, have a chance to explain herself, to tell him everything he deserves hearing. But finding Gaara within the desert itself sounds nearly impossible.

She takes a deep breath, inhales the familiar scent of greasewood, opens her eyes as the realisation hits her; she knows exactly where he is. By now the sun has started to rise, alighting the space with rosy rays, revealing hints of hope; life endured through blooming cacti. They’ve withstood their solitude, survived by themselves and managed to flourish despite their hardships—she’d like to think they could, too. She shoots up, darts across the room, determined not to waste anymore time on wishful thinking or empty fantasies. She leaves behind the mansion, feels the rain cool her skin, sees its droplets fracture sunlight into a starry curtain, gleaming against heavy clouds. Closing her eyes once more, she takes a deep breath, inhales the desert itself, revealing paths she’d never observe otherwise, and starts moving.

She runs, wet sand shifting beneath her feet, crosses rolling dunes and rocky hills. She doesn’t fear getting lost; with him is the only place she needs to be. The downpour has turned into a gentle shower, hair sticking to her face, clothes to her skin, but she doesn’t stop to worry about her appearance. The sun continues to rise, warms her with its glow, paints the skies a gentle pink, the dunes like a frozen sea. She crosses them with confident steps, no doubt in her mind, the surrounding air luring her deeper into barren lands. When she finally spots him, she doesn’t quite know how to feel, his lean figure perched on one of the many rocks, the surrounding hills swallowed by a landscape of creosote. Her heart races, pounds through her skull and limbs, keeps her on her toes. She’s nervous, that’s for sure, but also excited and relieved; she’s a thousand things at once, yet—despite the flood of emotion—she’s more determined than ever.

“Your plants are dying.”

Though it’s subtle, she can tell he hadn’t expected anyone to find him, his back and shoulders stiffening. He turns his head, allows his gaze to take her in, the slightest hint of a frown on his brow. He looks as worn as he had that afternoon; eyes dark and skin sallow—she wonders just how much weight he’s lost, too, features sharper than she remembers. His hair has darkened to a deep crimson, glistening with droplets of rain, clothes completely soaked. She takes a step, and his reaction is instant.

“Don’t,” he snaps, stare boring into hers. “Don’t come closer.”

She pauses, surprised at his severity, but quickly collects herself, realising she’s caught him off guard. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says, taking another, tilting her head as she observes his reactions.

He clenches his jaw, lowers his legs from where they’d been folded against his chest, his shoulders raised and back hunched. “Please,” he tries instead, and she’s surprised when she feels the sand beneath her move, sliding her backwards, “stay there.”

“No,” she protests, hands balled to fists, pointing a glare in his direction. “I want to talk to you.”

“I can hear you just fine,” he deadpans.

“Gaara... please, I-“ she pauses, searches for words, feels the ache of missing him slip around her heart, strangling the organ in its grip. She’s tired. Of everything, really; tired of her own lonely life, cooped up in her apartment or worked to the bone at her job. In fact, she’s exhausted, threadbare and—if she isn’t careful—ready to come undone. “I can’t do this anymore.” She means it, thinks of how returning to her old life would be the worst kind of punishment, and feels the familiar trickle of tears before she angrily rubs them away, annoyed at their betrayal.

He watches her, eyes following her movements, softening ever so slightly. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, finds herself grappling for words, something to break through his defences—however impossible that might seem. “I understand if this is all difficult for you.” She hesitates, takes a deep, calming breath. “I’ll admit it’s hard for me, too.” His frown deepens, but he doesn’t speak. “You said I didn’t do anything wrong,” she tries, searching for the right way to evoke a reaction. “Then why do you treat me this way?”

It works, a scowl twisting his brow, gaze narrowed to bitter slits. “Because I’m wrong,” he admits, averting his eyes, drops of rain falling from his hair, running down his skin.

She tries moving closer, careful not to approach too fast, adrenaline surging through her, leaving her light and jittery. “What do you mean...?” She can tell he’s conflicted, feels it in the sizzling air, charged by his presence.

“I-“ he starts, cuts himself off, turns his head as if ashamed. A hand shoots to his hair, lowers again, muscles in his jaw betraying the angry clench of his teeth. It’s a sad display, fills her with his grief, numbs her lips to the unspoken words between them. “I just don’t know anymore!” he bursts, a crack in his voice—a sharp contrast to his usual self. He releases a deep breath, rubs at his eyes, rests his elbow atop his knee, forehead in his palm, fingers digging into his hair. “I’m filled with all these- these thoughts,” he continues, gaze directed at his feet, shoulders slumped. “About you. Always you, constantly. It’s driving me insane, and the more I try to think of something else-” he pauses, leans further forward, other hand wrapped around his bicep, traveling up his shoulder—his entire posture a testimony of his vulnerability. “And then when I see you, it’s like I can’t control myself, I can’t control anything. It’s as if your very presence is enough to make me burst, and I’m not sure what I’m capable of if I do.”

She thinks she knows what that feels like—recalls the searing heat of his touch—and she’s convinced the both of them aren’t too different in that regard. Could it be... No. Impossible, right? Then again, his words still ring clear in her mind, whisper honest, unguarded truths. What if it is? What if he’s describing exactly what she suspects with all her heart? Love. The word rules her thoughts, overrides whatever doubt presents itself. It has to be love—how else is she to label this painful want burning within? This yearning for not only his touch, but his soul also. It’s now or never, and she knows there’s only one way to unearth the truth. “Sounds like love to me.” She holds her breath, braves herself against whatever might come.

“It’s obsession!” he counters, raising his head, eyes snapping to hers, surprising her with their intensity. “It’s all-consuming and I’ve never felt this—ever—yet the only thing I can compare these urges with is cold-blooded murder and that scares me to death.”

She swallows, raises her chin, tries inching forward, relieved to find the sand unmoving. “You wouldn’t hurt me.” Obsession. Would she know the difference? She’s always believed she loved Sasuke, only to discover it was obsession; with looks, an idea, and eventually a promise. Does she even know what love is?

He shakes his head, lowers his hands, grips his legs. “What would you know! You have no idea of the things I’ve thought—what I’ve wanted to do.” The sun’s glow hits his glistening skin, adds a shine to each drop of rain, pattering all around them, translucent like his eyes, she thinks.

“Those were just thoughts.” Even now, he’s something ethereal, staring back at her with his dark-rimmed gaze, giving rise to a familiar call in her bones, and she thinks she does know.

“And if I lose control, like I used to?” He stands, scrutinises her—she doesn’t cower, knows her goosebumps have nothing to do with the rain, and relishes the heavy gallop of her pulse. “What if those thoughts become actions and I end up ripping you apart? You have no idea how easy it is!”

He’s wrong. She moves closer, surprised he allows her. “That’s not the Gaara I know—the real Gaara,” she asserts with complete certainty, not a doubt in her mind—not anymore. “I’ve been confused too,” she continues. “All this time, I’ve been so blind.” His scowl melts to a frown, though he makes no move to speak. “I didn’t believe I knew what love was anymore, or that I ever understood it. Somehow I’d gotten love mixed up with obligation, thinking myself responsible for someone else’s fulfilment. How wrong I was!” she laughs, pauses, then decides to press on, knowing it’s now or never: “I know, you’ve already told me you’re not interested in any of it. But... I just need to say it, for my own peace. Do with it as you will, I know better than anyone you couldn’t change such feelings.” He’s close enough to touch, but she senses it might scare him away again, restrains her hands despite their yearning to enclose his. Still her smile lingers, rain mixing with the old tears on her cheeks. She’s warm, inside and out, overflows with all this feeling, purpose still fresh on her tongue, forming words from her heart: “I love you.”

Those eyes, round as marbles, shock her with their severity, steal the breath from her lungs. His head snaps to the side, gaze darting to nowhere in particular, entire stance gone rigid. She can’t help but look at the kanji, red as ever, filling her with wonder; there’s still so much she doesn’t know about him. The sun hits his eyes, alights their glistening surface until he clenches them shut, releasing a shaky breath, and she realises it’s not just rain rolling down his cheeks.

She collects the courage she needs to continue, feels his sorrowful expression seep into her soul. “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been, and...” She moves closer, raises a hand but drops it again, her lips twitching into a hopeful smile. “Somehow you’ve actually managed to talk some sense into me, and I don’t think I’ve ever known more clearly what I’ve wanted than I do now.”

He sucks in a breath, shakes his head, blinks his eyes open, yet doesn’t meet her gaze. “Sakura,” he whispers, voice hoarse, features twisted into a tortured expression, “I can’t.”

She falters, feels her resolve start to crumble, eyes growing large, searching for answers. Could it be... Sasuke was right all along? The cruelty of it, the sheer brutality. A tool, incapable of- no. No, it’s not true, the very notion ridiculous. She refuses to believe it. “Yes you can.” She steels herself, raises her chin. Then, without hesitation, takes his hand, places it above his heart, his head whipping around to face her. “Right here—all you need is already here.”

His eyes dart between hers and their limbs, blinking, chest rising as he sucks in a deep breath—she wonders what secrets lie in the quiver of his lips, the deep lines on his brow, the hurt lingering in the shadows of his expression. She dares take it a step further, gently brushing his hair to the side, wet strands cold against her fingers. He takes her arm, holds it there, large eyes searching her face. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

She flattens her hand across his, feels the racing of his heart beneath her fingertips. “Why would I lie?”

His eyes follow the movement, ever as unreadable. “Sasuke hates me.”

It startles her, the comment made so casually she’d almost think it logical. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He could want me dead.” Revenge. It does sound like Sasuke, though murder might be a bit extreme. She’s reminded of the night of his arrival, the way his eye never left Gaara; it’d struck her as strange then, too. Could this be the reason for him wanting to stay? Revenge?

“I’m not here to kill you!” She thinks of how Sasuke had taken her hand, held onto it in front of Gaara, as if trying to prove a point. At the same time, he did bring her flowers and make an actual effort. It couldn’t be about revenge only, though she doesn’t doubt it might have played a part.

“You’re a lot like him,” he says, releasing her arm, and she lowers it in response.

She grimaces, narrows her eyes at the strange observation. “Sasuke?”

He shakes his head. “My uncle.” An uncle? Somehow she has a hard time imagining his family beyond his siblings. “He was just following orders. Only I didn’t know that, not for a long time. I couldn’t take it again. Not from you.” Was he implying his uncle had tried to kill him? Whose orders had he been following, and more importantly; where was he now?

“Sasuke and I, we’re over,” she says instead, hoping to alleviate his worries.

Confusion flashes through his gaze, brows knitting together. “He told me you were getting married.”

She’s taken aback by the words. Sure, they’d discussed the possibility, but he’d never actually proposed. “He suggested it, but it wasn’t agreed upon.”

Gaara nods, hesitantly meets her eye. “You changed your mind?”

“ _You_ changed my mind,” she asserts, tightening her hold on his hand.

His frown deepens, lips thinning. “It was never my intention.”

She releases him, allows her arm to drop back to her side. “Intended or not, it happened. If you won’t take my word for it, then at least allow me to prove it.” She’s almost impressed by her own boldness, feels the same abandon she would in battle.

He sighs, wearily rubs his face. “I’m not exactly dating material, Sakura.”

“Neither am I, if you’d ask me.” The response comes instant, like a snap of the fingers, and she pauses to think, chewing her lip, aware it isn’t a convincing argument. “Imagine you didn’t have any fears of hurting me, would you? Give me a chance, I mean.”

His lips part, close again, eyes darting across her features before he releases another breath, and finally speaks: “Yes.”

It’s enough to get her hopes up, ease her insecurities, and with that guarantee she doesn’t hesitate to propose her thoughts. “Then why not try? See if whatever it is you’re feeling really is that abnormal. We could take it slow, even stop at any time.” Her entire body fills with a new kind of tension, high and thrilling, her pulse dancing erratically.

He appears to consider it, crosses his arms as he glances to the side, out into the desert. “What if I disappoint you?”

She feels a smile tug at her lips, tilts her head. “Gaara,” she says, “have you been listening?” Her smile widens, the high of her confession still running through her. “I’m in love with you. I already admire you in every regard, disappointing me would be a near impossible feat.” He doesn’t look convinced by her words, and she understands the need for another approach. “Tell me what’s really going through your mind.”

He briefly meets her eye, appears hesitant to share whatever he’s thinking, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’m afraid,” he mutters, something sad passing over him, his arms uncrossing as he clenches his eyes shut. “Part of me is convinced you’ll either leave or betray me, but the other part tells me I’ll be the one scaring you away, and I don’t want to lose you.”

That’s it, then, she thinks; the words are out, washing over her like the rain, and she feels cleaner bathed in their purity. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”

He averts his gaze again, shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, allows himself to slump back onto the stone he was perched on before. She hesitates, observes the torn expression marring his features, sits down beside him, legs inches apart. The rain has almost completely stopped, reduced to a slow drizzle, tones of orange starting to bleed through the sky, announcing the passage of time. She stares ahead, allows her gaze to take in the view he’d most likely been observing; the desert spreading out before them, endless miles of glittering dunes, beautiful yet inherently lonely. She starts when she feels his hand, hesitantly wrapping around hers, tips of his fingers tracing along her skin, searchingly. She swallows the nerves closing her throat, tries not to succumb to the sudden race of her pulse.

“What does love feel like?” he asks, softly, almost a whisper, as if ashamed at not knowing.

She feels another smile tug at her lips, skin sparking at his touch, lighting her up from the inside out. “Love can feel like many things,” she offers, returning his hold. “It can feel like happiness, excitement, passion—but it can also feel like pain, sadness, despair. It’s the flutter or breaking of your heart; the leap or twisting of your stomach; the nervous excitement or dread in your bones.” She’s always known what love was supposed to be like, taught at a young age the supposed rules of it. But reality often doesn’t work that way, and she realises now how life tends to disfigure the idea of love into something else entirely. “To love someone, means to cherish that person for who they are. They’ll be on your mind whenever they’re not with you, and you’ll wish for nothing more than to see them again—especially at the early stages of it. Love can be tender, comforting and sweet, but it can also be passionate, aggressive and intimate. It should always be selfless and equal; meaning the other person’s needs matter as much as your own, and you wouldn’t wish harm upon them. Losing them can feel like losing a part of yourself, and you’ll want to do anything to keep the other safe.”

He raises his legs, wraps his arm around them, rests his chin upon his knees, and turns his head to watch her.

“I don’t know...” she continues, feeling herself flush beneath his gaze. “To me it’s the little things; like being considerate, bringing strange little gifts, having fun together, but also being able to confide.” Pausing, she feels a playful grin creep up on her. “I suppose I’m also weirdly attracted to men who know their way around plants.”

He returns her smile, causing her to blush to deepen. “Even if they’ve been neglecting them?”

She chuckles. “Even then.”

He hums, remains silent for a while, thoughts dancing behind his eyes as they roam their surroundings, then meets her gaze again, an austere expression settling over him. “That’s funny, I feel that way about women who are clueless around plants.”

She laughs, nods, bites her lip, raises a leg to rest her cheek against, turning her head to watch him in return. “A lost cause to keep busy?” she tries, curiosity tempting her.

He blinks, then snorts. “There are no lost causes.” Her smile widens, and he again answers it with one of his own, suffusing her pulse with a special kind of trill, before his expression turns serious again, brow furrowing. She wonders whatever’s on his mind, finds her thoughts answered when he speaks: “I’ll try.” He turns his eyes to the rising sun, and she notices the rain has finally stopped, permeating the air with the heady scent of the surrounding shrubs. “For you.”

She tightens her grip around his hand, an entirely new kind of excitement bubbling within her. “Thank you,” she grins, biting her lip, unsure if she’s ever felt such elation before, the relief spreading through her smooth as silk.

He watches her with his pale eyes, a familiar warmth in them she has sorely missed. The corners of his lips start to tilt, until he averts his gaze again, a grin slowly spreading across his features, giving her pause at the beauty of it. She follows his gaze, watches the sun as it climbs ever-higher, creating dunes of gold. It’s a breathtaking sight, and she allows her head to rest against his shoulder, content to sit there in silence, thinking to herself she wouldn’t mind remaining here, forever if possible, just like this; together.

* * *

They stay that way for several hours, and Sakura isn’t certain if she’s remained awake for all of them, the growing heat of the sun warming her pleasantly, drying the rain from her clothes. It’s Gaara who eventually suggests they head back, offering his hand as he stands. She blushes when they come face to face, the realisation of it all hitting her. She has difficulty believing the past few hours really happened—but they did, reshaping all she thought her future would hold. From now on, she’ll be dating Gaara, a man who—only a few months ago—she’d hardly ever paid attention to. She thinks him beautiful, features bright under the harsh desert rays, hair long since dried and sticking out in every possible angle. It has her giggling to herself, and she raises a hand to smooth out the unruly strands, surprising him as he stares at her, the hints of a blush staining his cheeks. They’ll be dating, she reminds herself again, only because she has a hard time believing her luck.

First, though, she’ll have to go home, and she feels her impending departure weigh on her as they walk. She doesn’t recognise the landscape they cross, realising just how little she’d paid attention to it, aware she would have been utterly lost had she not found him. He’s the one who takes her hand, intertwines their fingers, holds it tight enough to make her wonder if he has a hard time believing it, too; just like her, he most likely never saw any of this coming. She smiles, returns his grip, cementing their reality, feeling more than ready for whatever may come. When the village enters their sight, she thinks of the hospital, Sasuke’s flowers still there, and wonders if she should leave them or pick them up. She decides on the latter, not wishing to be ungrateful, reasoning she could gift them to Temari—almost certain the blonde would love them for target practice.

When they stop by the hospital, Sakura already spots several of the nurses through the windows, glad to be able to see them a final time. She uses both hands to open the doors, the sound drawing the attention of those inside.

“Kazekage-sama!” one of the nurses, Heiko, stiffens, offering a respectful bow at his entry, eyes shooting curiously between the redhead and Sakura. “We didn’t expect to see you return so soon, Sakura-sama.”

“I forgot my flowers,” she admits, walking to the sink she’d left them in, their petals still fresh and vibrant.

“Oh, right,” Heiko’s eyes follow her, “the ones from that dark gentlemen.”

“Yes.” She takes them, admires their beauty, their gentle scent pleasant as it hits her. “It didn’t quite work out.”

“I see.” The nurse tips her head, raising a quizzical brow. “I’m sorry to hear that?”

“Don’t be,” Sakura assures her, “it means you and I will see a lot more of each other in the future.”

Heiko lights up, offers a grin. “I’m happy to hear it.”

She smiles, nods, and returns to Gaara’s side. “So am I,” she says, taking his hand as they leave, chuckling at the nurses’ expressions of shock.

He turns to her when they exit, sends her an inquiringlook. “You’d do that?” he asks. “Move to Suna?”

She’s quick to answer him, no contemplation needed. “Of course!” she grins. “I actually like it here—and I could hardly steal away their Kazekage; he’s too good at his job.”

He smiles, brighter than the sun, she thinks.

* * *

“Where do you think you’ve been!?”

Sakura shrinks back, hides behind the bouquet, even though Temari’s wrath isn’t directed at her. Instead, the blonde points her scowl at the unexpected redhead, who doesn’t appear shocked by her rage. Without a word, he steps forward, wraps his arms around his sister, taking both her and Sakura by surprise.

“I apologise for worrying you,” he says, causing Temari’s eyes to widen. Reluctantly, she returns the embrace, awkward at first, until it seems she melts into it, squeezing her brother lovingly.

“Alright, mister charming,” she grins playfully, though Sakura doesn’t miss the hint of emotion in her voice, “you’re forgiven, alright, no need to use such extreme measures.” She doesn’t mean it, the joy on her features an obvious contradiction to her words, and Sakura smiles at the display. They release each other, needing no more words to clear the air, a truce reached through looks alone.

“These are for you.” Sakura offers the flowers, smiling sheepishly. “They’re from Sasuke.”

“Why, what a treat!” the blonde exclaims, accepting the large gift. “I was looking for something to decorate the training grounds with.”

Sakura laughs, relieved at Temari’s talent for lightening the mood, thinking herself exceptionally lucky to be part of such a family.

* * *

It’s not easy, leaving it all behind again—for now, she tells herself; she’ll be back eventually. Still, it doesn’t make saying goodbye any more pleasant. He’s told her he’d visit again a month from now, when the Chuunin exams bring him to Konoha. In the meantime he’ll keep in touch—not through notes, she’s made him swear. His siblings will be there too, and she’s excited to take them around Konoha—a spa day already on their list of activities. They all walk her past the village walls, chatting happily, almost making her forget she’ll have to miss them. But, far too soon, their time together comes to an end. She’s already considered remaining in Suna, only for a couple days, but couldn’t bring herself to neglect her responsibilities any longer. Which has her thinking of Sasuke, who she hasn’t seen again—she can’t help but feel guilty for her sudden rejection, but she’s sure he’ll get over it sooner than later. He’s Sasuke, after all.

When they say their final goodbyes, she hugs each of them, saves Gaara for last. She holds onto him with crushing strength, fears letting go, afraid doing so means missing him. He surprises her when he pulls back, pressing his lips to her forehead in a gesture of affection, overwhelming her; it’s more than she’d expected him to give, and her skin buzzes with both gratitude and pride. Only a month, she reminds herself, battling the sting of tears in her eyes, just a single month alone. They release each other, remain silent for a while, and she tries her hardest to commit him to memory. It’s impossible, she thinks, convinced she’ll never be able to remember the exact emotion each part of him evokes, certain no conjuring of her mind could ever compare. Admitting defeat, she bids him farewell—for now, she reminds herself.

Then, she starts her journey, arriving home much too soon. Upon entry, she spots the blinking of her answering machine, mentally prepares herself for her mother’s barrage of questions. She decides to ignore them for now, instead heads for her room to unpack. Passing the kitchen, she spots the small succulent, sees it alive and healthy. She smiles, happy for the reminder of him, then continues. She drops her bag onto her bed, releases a long, weary sigh. The exhaustion of her travels starts to set in, muscles sore from several days of running. She’ll have to shower before she can rest, though, and decides to unpack before doing so. When she opens her bag, she’s surprised to find a folded piece of paper. She takes it, slowly brings it closer for inspection, carefully unfolding it. Wrapped inside is the picture of them, revealing his features in clear detail, her stomach leaping at the sight. Then, when she turns to inspect the paper, she sees it’s in fact a note, three words written across in familiar elegant strokes: ‘I love you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, I had part of this written for months already (and I forced myself to finish this because ugh it’s such a relief to have the words out, right?). Anyway I’ll never forgive Kishi for Gaara hiden (I haven’t read it but I know the plan). Like, sure, let’s have a woman pretend to love this man only to betray him, it’s not like he’s already pretty traumatised. It just seems cruel, and I believe Gaara would have a very hard time letting anyone in. I drew the picture mentioned in this chapter, I also have some other fanarts which I’ll link in the next one because they’re absolutely amazing and deserve the attention. For now I hope you all enjoyed this and think it’s in character. Of course, the story is long from over. I could have drawn the drama out, but this isn’t about angst as much as it’s about exploring these characters and the ways they might develop in a relationship—which is exactly what we’ll do! I didn’t change this to a mature rating for no reason hhihohohgigogo. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and reviews! They always make my day! I still have to get back to some of you, but know your feedback makes me very happy. Now, who’s ready for what comes next!!!?!!!
> 
> https://hirvitank.tumblr.com/post/639467445526134784/read-on-ao3-ff


	14. Who she wants

She raps her knuckles against his door, crosses her arms as she leans against its post. “Hey,” she says, watches surprise flit across his features.

“Sakura-chan!” he exclaims, brightening at the sight of her. “You’re back.” A grin spreads across his face, displaces the whisker-like markings on his cheeks—it reminds her of Gaara’s dark-rimmed eyes, awakening a new sort of fondness for her blond friend.

“Was I missed?” she smiles, stepping forward as Naruto stands from his chair. He circles his desk, spreads his arms to embrace her. She walks right into it, props her chin atop his shoulder, his scent—warm and familiar—fills her with nostalgia. 

“You have no idea,” he says, voice vibrating within his chest—sometimes she forgets he’s no longer a kid, details like these reminding her of such facts. She releases him, steps back, meets his gaze with a confident smile. “You look amazing,” he notes, eyes roaming her features.

She appreciates his words, feels they help cement the validity of her decision. “I actually came to thank you.”

He raises his brows, grin lingering. “What for?”

“For sending Sasuke.”

Instant relief crosses his features, his happiness two-edged to her. “You’ve made up?” 

She’s well-aware how far his expectations differ from the truth, but the knowledge doesn’t deter her from telling it—if anything it encourages her to be blunt. “No.”

Silence, a frown, followed by confusion. “What do you mean?” Normally so confident, Sakura doesn’t miss the hint of uncertainty in his voice; completely incongruous with his usual demeanour.

“I told him we couldn’t be together.” Like ripping off a bandaid, she welcomes its quick sting, hopes to get it over with swiftly—there’s happier news she’d rather focus on.

A frown knits his brow, gaze boring into hers as he searches for words, shock momentarily silencing him. “But you love him?”

“That’s the thing,” she pleads, tipping her head. “I don’t think I ever did.”

His frown deepens, something akin to hurt flitting across his features. “Of course you do! We did everything to get him back—I thought you’d be happy, the two of you, together!” It’s the emotion in his voice that gets to her, infiltrates her heavy heart, leaves her soured.

“I thought so too—but I’m not, and I’ll never be happy with him. Thanks to you, I’m at least certain about that.” She offers an apologetic smile, but it’s short-lived in the face of Naruto’s denial.

“Sakura-chan, I think you’re just confused. You and Sasuke were always-”

“I love Gaara!” she snaps, crossing her arms.

He falters, blinks several times as he processes the words, hand rubbing his face. “What?”

“Gaara,” she repeats, feels lighter saying it out loud, “I love _him_.”

“Sakura...” She doesn’t miss the sudden lack of a honorific. “I really hope you’re being serious, or els-“

“Of course I’m being serious!”

He takes her shoulders, levels his gaze with her. “Did you tell Gaara this?”

“Yes,” she huffs, annoyance wearing down her patience.

“Then I hope you know what you want this time, because Gaara isn’t some fling for y-“

“A fling!” She pulls away from him, anger boiling her blood. “You think I’m that shallow?”

He crosses his arms. “You claimed you loved Sasuke for years, and now you don’t? What am I to think?”

“This isn’t just a whim!”

“You’ve been talking to Gaara for how long? You never showed interest in the guy before and now I’m supposed to believe you love him?”

“What could I possibly stand to gain by lying?”

“I don’t know!” He pauses, gaze hardening. “But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

She falters, blinks against the fog in her eyes, tries her best to stop the tears from forming—he’s wrong, doesn’t know what he’s talking about—feels them stick to her lashes, then roll down her cheeks. “I thought you’d be happy for us- I-“ she cuts herself off, quickly wipes at the unwanted sorrow spilling from her eyes.

He deflates, the anger melting from his features. “Even if you’re serious... You’re a Konoha medic, Sakura, a valuable one at that. Surely you wouldn’t turn your back on your village?”

He’s not saying what she thinks he is, right? Not Naruto, of all people. It’s adding insult to injury, and she can’t keep the bitter scowl off her features. “I don’t even have a bloodline-limit, so I’m of no true value to your precious village and you know it,” she spats.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, releases a long breath, then continues in a softer tone: “I just got Sasuke back... you can’t expect me to be okay with losing another friend.” He shakes his head, reaches out, then changes his mind, holds his hand to his chest. “I always imagined we’d be together again; the three of us, finally able to pick up where we left off.”

“And Gaara’s happiness? Where does he factor in?”

“Don’t make this about him.”

“It _is_ about him!” She can’t believe it; this man who claims to be their friend, who should—at the very least—know better. She raises her chin, confident in her decision. “You know what? You and Sasuke deserve each other!” She turns, ignores his attempts at stopping her, instead slams the door, silencing his voice behind the practiced walls she erects, and leaves.

* * *

It’s not that she’s surprised, not at all—in fact, she thinks she understands perfectly. It’s just like Naruto; somehow it’s about him, yet again, like it’s always been. It’s laughable, really, how honestly she believed he’d be excited upon hearing the truth. His earlier actions should have been a clear indication, and somewhere deep inside she’d already known. But, if there’s one thing she thinks she can take away from their conversation, then it’s her own resolve at wanting to prove him wrong. Nothing, not even a Hokage, is going to deter her from loving who she wants—she’ll leave behind her village a hundred times over if she has to.

With that in mind, she heads for the training grounds, aware she’s expected at the hospital in a few hours. She’ll blow off steam first, hopes she can forget some of her anger that way. She’s relieved to see them deserted, not in the mood for conversation. As she makes her way across, she appreciates how the grounds are perfectly level, not a single crack or crater in sight; there’s nothing more satisfying than breaking apart smooth terrain. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she begins her work, gathering chakra into her fist before unleashing it upon the rock below. It’s a sweet kind of satisfaction, every rumbling break and crevice allowing the release of her frustrations: Sasuke, Naruto, and the distance between Gaara and her.

It doesn’t take long before the grounds have been transformed into a landscape of cliffs and craters, and she watches her work—out of breath, yet energised—with smug satisfaction. It’s short-lived, however, noticing her outfit to be equally ruined. Covered in dust and rubble, she heads home, the streets growing busier as people start their day. It’s completely different from Suna—yet, at the same time, so much alike. There’s acquaintances who wave at her as she passes, as well as the familiar places she often visits. Truly, it’s all very well replaceable, from the shops and bars to the landscape itself; there’s nothing she isn’t equally appreciative of in Suna, she decides.

Arriving home, she releases a long breath, immediately strips her dirtied clothes and decides a shower wouldn’t be too bad an idea. The heat helps wash the tension from her muscles, revives her good mood, skin pleasantly warmed as she steps out. While dressing, she notices someone knocking, and she calls for a moment as she rushes through her routine. Cheeks flushed and hair damp, she opens her door, surprised at her unannounced visitor.

“Ino!”

The blonde grins, hands on her hips, confident as she always is. “Couldn’t help but notice you were back in town. For a second I thought there was an earthquake,” she says, winking as she side-steps her, allowing herself into Sakura’s apartment. “So where have you been?”

Sakura follows, trying to think of an appropriate answer; she’s not exactly in the mood for a repeat of her morning. “Actually, I-“

Ino gasps: “Forehead! What’s this?” Sakura rushes after her, inwardly curses as she spots Gaara’s note between the blonde’s fingers, berates herself for not storing it away yet. “Spill the beans!”

How is she supposed to talk herself out of this one? “It’s... I-“ She chews her lip, rubs her hands together, eyes darting across the room in search for an excuse: she finds none, deflating as she sends Ino an apologetic look. “First tell me if you’d be angry at me if I left.”

Her friend looks back at the note, scrutinises its handwriting. “Did Sasuke write this?” she tries. “Is he asking you to leave with him?”

“Answer the question, Ino.”

“Of course not,” she immediately rebuts, and Sakura doesn’t doubt her sincerity. 

She nods, offers her a seat before sitting down herself, anxiously smoothing her still wet hair. “It’s Gaara’s.”

“Sakura!” Ino gasps with a smile, taking her hands as she leans in closer. “Does that mean-?”

“We-“ she pauses, swallows her nerves, takes a quick breath. “We agreed we’d try.”

“That’s amazing!” Ino’s enthusiasm proves contagious, a shy smile tugging at Sakura’s lips. “Really though Forehead, a Kazekage, way to go!”

“I said we’d try! Nothing’s set in stone yet,” she laughs, the nervous flutter of her heart bringing a flush to her cheeks.

“Oh please,” Ino waves a hand, winking for good measure, “before you know it you’ll be overrun by tiny redheads.”

“Ino!” Sakura straightens in her chair, eyes large. “We’ve only just started dating—besides I- we-“ More blood rushes to her face, fingers massaging her temple as she averts her gaze. “We’re taking things slow.”

Ino scoffs. “Tell me you’ve at least seen him naked.”

She shoots back up. “What? No!”

“Your blush says otherwise,” the blonde teases, waving an accusatory finger at her.

“No! I-“ she stammers, throat closing up, “we kissed, okay!”

Ino squeals, taking both of Sakura’s hand again, pulling her closer, excited blue eyes blinking up at her. “What was it like?”

She opens her mouth, pauses, feels something hot rush through her. “It was really...” she smiles, averting her gaze, “very nice.”

“Who would’ve thought!” She releases Sakura, leans back in her chair, casually crosses her arms. “I’ll have to hand it to Gaara; that man is full of surprises.”

She smiles in agreement, touches her necklace, then—albeit hesitantly—wonders if Ino could offer some much needed insight. Her friend’s enthusiasm, so far, has her feeling more at ease, and she couldn’t imagine talking to anyone else—not about these sort of things. “There was an issue, though,” she starts, carefully watching Ino’s reactions. “The kiss, it freaked him out.”

A seriousness settles over the blonde, much to Sakura’s relief, eyes taking on a thoughtful gleam. “Why is that?”

“It’s complicated.” She averts her gaze, fingers absentmindedly drawing circles across the table. “He told me it confused him.” How much would be appropriate to share? Though Gaara’s known to be honest, that doesn’t mean he wears his heart on his sleeve—like her. Then again, Ino knows how to keep a secret, and she doesn’t doubt her friend would respect them both. She briefly closes her eyes, then says: “He was afraid he’d lose control and kill me.”

The blonde nods, crosses her legs, then tips her head as she mulls over the information. “Well the guy’s obviously repressed.”

She raises a brow. “Repressed?”

“Come on, this is Gaara we’re talking about,” Ino says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world—to Sakura, it’s not.

“... So?”

“So,” the blonde shakes her head, “have you ever looked at the guy? He’s usually stiff as a board—no offence—and it’s no wonder with how he used to be.”

Sakura scowls, crosses her arms as well. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Ino raises a hand. “Allow me to phrase it this way—now bear with me, I might not get everything right.” She leans forward, places her elbows onto the table, levels an unusually serious gaze with Sakura’s. “He most likely never controlled his urges—never had to—that is, until Naruto beat some sense into him. He was 12 then, and after that I bet control became an obsession: he had a lot to prove. Most teenagers going through puberty start desiring the other teens around them, instead Gaara only focused on bettering himself and controlling his desire to kill.” It’s a lot to take in, yet Sakura can’t help but feel it makes sense, in a way.

“Do you think...” It’s absurd, but who else could she ask? “Desire, wether to kill or sexual, could feel the same?”

Ino nods. “Definitely. It’s all lust, you know.”

Lust. All-consuming desire; it reminds her of his words. Ino might have a point. “So, how am I supposed to go about this? I’m not exactly experienced myself...” She’d always believed she was saving herself for Sasuke, however silly that might seem in retrospect.

“You’re in luck!” Ino throws her a smug grin, flicking a finger against Sakura’s forehead. “I just so happen to be available for a sleepover tonight, and from the sound of things it’s been long overdue.”

Sakura leans away from her, rubs the assaulted skin with a chagrined look, grumbling about pigs and boorish behaviours.

* * *

The rumours surrounding her absence were to be expected; she’d randomly disappeared, hadn’t even made an effort to explain to her fellow medics where to. Their surprise at her return had been predictable, too; she hadn’t announced her return either. What she hadn’t expected, however, would be the absolutely ridiculous conclusions they’d collectively come to. Truly, if she has to explain one more time how she hasn’t actually staged an elopement with the Kazekage to make Sasuke jealous... However, even she can admit the idea isn’t too far-fetched, and she’s dismayed to hear how aware they are of her time spent with Gaara—more-so because they all seem convinced the redhead and she are friends, nothing more. It irks her, to have everyone assume she couldn’t possibly be interested in a man other than Sasuke, but... she knows she herself is fully to blame.

So, reminded of that fact, she tries her best to remain patient, quickly denying the rumours whenever possible. It’s a job in and of itself, progressively wearing her down as the day progresses, time slipping by almost unnoticed. She doesn’t realise when the end of her final shift arrives, too preoccupied with yet another conversation about Sasuke—she isn’t about to share his rejection, but she also isn’t going to have anyone believe her absence had anything to do with him, either. She refuses to award him the credit. It’s another nurse who reminds her, urges her to go, spare her energy for tomorrow. In no mood to argue, Sakura complies, rushes out knowing there’s preparations to be made. She stops by the market, buys all the pleasures she never permits herself, determined to indulge in her every bad craving. It’s been a tradition between Ino and her since childhood, and she feels almost like a kid again as she piles different unhealthy snacks upon a variety of wines, filling her bag with them. 

Arriving home, she takes another quick shower, changes into something more comfortable. She’s already started on their dinner when Ino arrives, carrying several large bags into the apartment, making it hard to believe she’s only staying for a single night. It feels just like old times; the two of them, huddled together in her apartment. Sakura tells her about her day at the hospital, airing her grievances with her colleagues, grateful for her friend’s willingness to hear her out. In return she listens to Ino’s frustrations, which consist mostly of not having been proposed to yet. Eventually, even these complaints turn trivial as they enjoy their deserts on Sakura’s couch; Sai has a habit of leaving ink and brushes everywhere, sometimes getting them mixed up with her make-up—which turns out to be quite the expensive mistake, Ino grumbles.

The phone interrupts them, reminding Sakura she’s failed to respond to any of her mother’s messages—no doubt her parents have already heard of her return. Rolling her eyes, she leans across the couch to pick up the receiver. “Mom, I-“

“Mom?” an obviously male voice replies.

“Gaara!” She straightens her back, glances at Ino—the blonde snickers, sends her an encouraging look and a thumbs up.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No! I mean-“ She folds her legs beneath her, ignores her friend making kissing faces in the background. “Ino is here—but it’s fine, she doesn’t mind. You’re free to talk however long you want.” She smirks, sticks out her tongue at the blonde, finishing: “even if it takes _all_ night.”

“Don’t encourage me,” he warns, and she doesn’t doubt his seriousness.

Meanwhile, Ino perks up in the background. “Hey, Sakura,” she starts in a half-whisper, “ask him if he’s an ass or tits man.”

“Ino!”

“What’s that?”

“Ass or tits?” the blonde repeats, louder this time, to which Sakura leaps up, attempting to silence her, the cord stretching awkwardly in the process.

“Ass... or tits?” the redhead mutters, as if seriously considering the question. Sakura freezes, chokes at his words, covers her mouth as the heat continues to rise to her face. “I don’t know.”

She glances in Ino’s direction, sees her mouth the word ‘repressed’, then quickly turns away. “So,” she tries to change the subject, her voice unusually high, “how are you?”

“I’m fine- actually, there was something I wanted to tell you.”

She frowns, sits back down again. “I’m listening.”

It takes him a beat to continue, and she wonders if it’s bad news. “Sasuke’s headed home.”

Her heart stutters, a nervous shiver running down her back. It’s the last thing she’d expected to hear. “What, why?”

“He didn’t say. I wanted to give you a head’s up.” 

Gratitude warms her, softens the news, glad his return won’t be unexpected. “Did he mention anything else?” Anything about her, she thinks, aware he doesn’t know she mended things with Gaara.

“No,” he sighs, falls silent, then: “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, I’m... I’m okay. Thank you—for letting me know.” After years, Sasuke has finally decided to come home. Something he wasn’t willing to do for her, which has her wondering whatever reason he might have now. Surely, her rejecting him wouldn’t have anything to do with it? Perhaps he just wants to see Naruto again, especially after everything that’s happened; he might need his friend.

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll have Ino around.”

“That’s good,” he pauses, and when he speaks again it’s much gentler: “I miss you.”

She smiles, feels her heart flutter. “Miss you, too.” She chews her lip, feels her smile spread to a grin. “And thank you for the picture.” She thinks she can hear him smile through the receiver. “And the note, of course.”

“No anger this time?”

“Just this once, it's forgivable.”

“I’m relieved, though I wouldn’t mind another interruption from you.”

She chuckles. “I’ll remember that.” She’d love for nothing more than to march back to Suna, right this instant, but knows she couldn’t just leave again. Besides, in a month he’ll be here, back in the privacy of her apartment.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” he then says. “Have fun, I’ll call again tomorrow.”

She rolls the cord around her finger, watches the way it stretches, smiles warmly. “I’d like that.”

“Goodbye,” he rumbles, a fondness in his tone. She opens her mouth, ready to reply, when he suddenly speaks again. “Oh, Sakura?”

She raises her brows. “Yes?”

“I’ve given it some thought.” He pauses, and she holds her breath, notes the amusement in his voice when he says: “I’d have to go with ass.” A click, followed by a low tone, suggesting he’s hung up.

She’s frozen, not quite processing the comment, when Ino bursts out laughing. “Who would have thought the Kazekage has a sense of humour. Sai was right.”

Sakura stares at the receiver, silently returns it to the holder. Her face burns, a shy smile curving her lips as she turns to Ino. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” She chuckles, the conversation replaying in her mind, then quickly stands. “We should get some drinks.” Ino agrees without hesitation, follows her to the kitchen, helps her grab a pair of glasses, fills them with their favourite wine.

“I didn’t know you liked plants, Sakura. Last I saw, you killed them all,” Ino notes, staring at the small succulent.

“Gaara gave it to me,” she says, taking her glass, “he promised me this one would survive even my care.”

“It certainly looks cute,” Ino smiles, returning the bottle to the fridge. “I didn’t know our desert-man liked plants.”

“Oh, he loves them—actually,” she says, reclaiming her place on the couch, “I wanted to surprise him next time he comes. That is, if you’d be willing to help?”

Ino joins her, raises her glass to the proposal. “Of course, that’s what friends are for.”

“Thank you,” Sakura smiles, pauses, rotates the glass between her fingers, “I really appreciate all you’re doing—being here and all.”

“Well, I’ve missed you,” she admits, taking a sip before continuing in a more serious tone: “I know we’ve both been caught up in our lives—obligations get in the way, and before you know it it’s been several months. I could have been there more. For you, I mean.”

Sakura follows her example, enjoys the familiar burn down her throat, quickly brushes off Ino’s words. “It’s not your fault, I know how busy both you and Sai have been, and I understand. Your relationship comes first.”

Her response is met with a stern glare. “That’s exactly it. Friendships are just as important, and I suppose I lost sight of that. I guess I never noticed how unhappy you were until I finally saw you smile again.”

Sakura frowns, watches her wine slosh in its glass, met with her own dancing reflection. “It’s as much my own fault,” she mutters. “I could have told you how I was feeling, too.”

Ino laughs, pokes the tip of Sakura’s nose, causes her to raise her eyes. “That’s just who you are, you never want to be a burden to anyone.” She winks. “But you’re not, okay?” Placing her hand atop Sakura’s, she squeezes the limb. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“Thanks.” She smiles into her glass, feels a new sense of appreciation for her childhood friend, and wonders what will remain of them were she to leave Konoha...

“Now where’s that picture the two of you were talking about!”

“Picture, what?” Oh right, she- “Hey, wait!” She scrambles after the blonde, tries to stop her from upending her entire apartment, but finds herself already beat, her appreciation quickly forgotten.

“Aw, Forehead!” her friend exclaims. “Look at the two of you, you’re going to have such attractive children, I can tell.”

“Thanks,” she grumbles, slumps back down in defeat. “If we have any—he once told me he wanted to adopt.”

“You could do both.”

“It’s not that simple, what if there’s a good reason for, you know...” She gestures awkwardly.

“What, like he doesn’t have a penis?”

“That’s not what I-!“ She cuts herself off, closes her eyes as she rubs her temple. “You’re starting to sound like Sai.” She frowns, takes another gulp of wine, shaking her head as she swallows. “Anyway, let’s not talk about... you know.”

Ino raises a brow. “I’m just saying, you should get comfortable discussing these things if you plan on working through whatever’s bothering him. Take it from me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever have the confidence to be like you,” she sighs, already feels the wine do its work, thoughts spilling from her lips unchecked. “I just can’t imagine myself like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ino snorts, holds up the picture. “Look at this bombshell!”

Sakura laughs, snags the frame from her friend’s grasp. “Now you’re just exaggerating!”

“That’s the thing, I’m not.” She pauses to drink more wine, then waves a berating finger at Sakura, smirking. “Besides, we both know Gaara thinks you’re beautiful.”

She almost chokes, spluttering as she fights the blush staining her cheeks. “I know he’s said that, but is it really so strange for me to have a hard time believing it? I mean, I’m still me, and, well, he’s...”

Ino ‘tsks’ her. “Now you’re just projecting your lack of self-love onto him.”

Sakura winces, hides the expression behind her glass.

“It’s the truth,” her friend insists.

“Am I really that transparant?”

“Not at all,” she grins, “I just know you well.” She finishes her drink, dumps the glass onto the table, and adds: “You know what we need? More wine!”

With a chuckle, Sakura agrees, happy to indulge her. It’s been too long, and—more than ever—she understands the value of moments like these. 

* * *

By the dim light of the moon, she watches her friend as she sleeps, smiling to herself as she recounts their conversations. She hadn’t before realised how much she’d needed the advice, intensely grateful for Ino’s astute perspective. In hindsight, she almost can’t believe their rivalry—too many years wasted on a petty competition. How many times had she missed her friend due to her own childishness? There’s many things she wishes she could take back, but, seeing as such things aren’t possible, she instead vows to be better; a better friend and confidant—even if, one day, she leaves for Suna. 

She thinks of Temari, and how much she and Ino would like each other, wishes distance wasn’t a thing between them. But, she figures, the both of them will have plenty of time to get acquainted—Temari will move here, after all. It’ll be nice, the three of them, for however brief it may be. Closing her eyes, she nestles closer to Ino’s warmth, slowly feels herself drift off. It’s safe in their little shelter, their cocoon of trust, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to be alone—even if it’s just a single night. Sleep is peaceful, a comforting dive into dreamless depths, consisting of only their echoes; soft voices unfolding their hearts. When morning arrives, a new sort of understanding has grown between them, and they part promising familiarity. At least once a week, they agree, their next evening together already scheduled.

It’s back to work after that, Sakura’s absence already near-forgotten due to the regular hustle and bustle. It’s surprisingly easy to fall back into schedule, life picking up right where she left off—except, this time, she has something to look forward to. There isn’t much need left to explain herself, and she prefers keeping it that way; once she finally succumbs to her mother’s calls, she cleverly avoids any mention of Gaara, for now pretends to have been on a mission. It’s easier that way, she’ll tell her parents once he’s here—and she won’t deny she enjoys the novelty of her little secret.

Days pass by peacefully, a steady rhythm helping her readjust. She continues to avoid Naruto, and, by extension, Hinata. She’s stung by his words, yet aware she’ll have to face him eventually. Even if it’s something she’d rather not. She knows they’ll pull through—they’ve always managed to overcome their differences—but it doesn’t make accepting his harsh judgments any easier. And even if they do, there’s still the proverbial elephant in the room: Sasuke’s return is imminent. With everything that’s happened—or rather, hasn’t happened—between them, she isn’t sure she can handle his sudden presence. After their kiss, followed by her rejection, she isn’t sure what’s become of them.

In the past, their relationship had been clear cut: teammates, and eventually even friends. Her affection had been a one-sided thing, most often met with annoyance. Now, she’s the one keeping distance, denying his advances. It’s not a position she ever imagined herself to be in, and the thought of seeing him twists her guts. Of course, as would be her luck, such an occasion presents itself sooner rather than later. Knowing his impending arrival, she really should have been more prepared. She’d been warned—well in time—yet still finds herself caught off guard when he’s at her door. He’s as stoic as ever, one hand on his hip, eye distantly staring ahead.

“Good morning,” she says, a panicked chill running through her.

He grunts, meets her eye, then looks away again. They remain silent for a bit, an awkward air settling between them. “I came to talk...” he says, eventually. “If that’s okay with you.”

She sucks in a breath, leans against her door, directs her gaze somewhere past him. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “I’ll be expected at work soon, and...”

“I’ll be brief.”

She pauses, reluctantly meets his eye, feels her stomach drop. “Alright.” She steps aside, allows him to pass, closes the door behind him. He walks ahead, stops in her kitchen, looks entirely out of place there. She follows, avoids further eye-contact, instead heads for her counter. “Anything to drink?”

“No, thank you.” It’s the first time he’s ever visited, she realises, swallowing something thick. “You have a nice place.”

She nods. “Thank you.” Rubbing her arm, she wonders what’s prompted him to stop by.

He sighs, rubs at his brow, shows an unusual amount of emotion. He looks lost, tall frame dwarfing the tiny space they occupy. She can sense there’s something on his mind, but can’t pinpoint the exact emotion flickering behind his sheltered gaze. “I-“ he starts, closes his eyes, gathers what she assumes to be courage. “I don’t think I can do it.” There’s a break in his voice, and she instinctively steps forward.

“Do you want to sit down?” she offers, hopes he’ll be more comfortable that way.

He blinks, looks between her and the chair, nods. Taking a tentative seat, he stills, stares off into nowhere.

She takes place across from him, observes his conflicted expression with worried eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He glances her way, lips pulled into a frown, shoulders straight with tension. It’s not easy for him, she can tell, his guard raised, a flightiness to his posture. “Nothing,” he tries, crosses his arms, fingers fumbling with his sleeves, then sighs. “Maybe just me.”

She frowns, folds her hands in her lap. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sasuke.”

He scoffs, dips his chin, and she notices the tightness of his jaw. They remain silent for a bit, her clock ticking away in the background, filling the air with an uncomfortable sense of urgency; she’ll have to leave soon. “I just thought if I- with you- I’d finally feel...” he stops himself, turns his head away, leg bouncing impatiently before he abruptly stands, already moving away.

“Wait,” she says, reaches out, fingers wrapping around his sleeve. “You can talk to me, you know. It’s okay.”

He stills, doesn’t turn to face her—yet she somehow feels the weight he carries around, an unfamiliar kind of hurt, settling against her skin and raising bitter goosebumps. “I don’t think I can revive my clan,” he murmurs, almost too soft for her to catch, and just like that, leaves, his words left to settle in his stead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeellllooooooo! Don't worry, Gaara will be back next chapter, but there's of course plenty of development to go through first, especially concerning Sasuke and Naruto. I also couldn't resist having Ino pipe in. She's such an overlooked character, and I feel like if someone understands psychology, it'd be her. She's exactly what Sakura needs at this point, and you can expect to see a lot more of her, because we stan healthy friendships between women. Also, special shoutout to Cinnamonbun24 because omg your comments had me smiling like an idiot all day! And of course thank you so much to everyone else for sticking with my silly little fluff-piece turned pwp yet still without the actual p but don't worry we're getting there--let's face it, there's a single reason we're all here and it's to read about these characters naked both body and soul. I also hope you're all going to like what I have in store for Sasuke, because if there's something I enjoy it's giving these characters valid reasons for their actions and redeeming them because there's nothing as satisfying as a happy ending for everyone.
> 
> And, as promised, linked below are the adorable pieces Prosynica made for this fic! It's the first time anyone's made art for something I wrote and I couldn't be more honoured!
> 
> https://prosynica.tumblr.com/post/637858047816024064/finally-got-around-to-coloring-some-old-stuff
> 
> https://prosynica.tumblr.com/post/634504763488272384/decided-to-draw-another-scene-from-creosote-by


	15. Such ordinary things

_I don’t think I can revive my clan._

The words continue to echo through her mind—like a mantra—repeat themselves yet reveal none of their mysteries. What had Sasuke meant? Had he come to believe such things due to her rejection? Was she meant to feel responsible? She has yet to move from her chair, frozen in place. She watches her front door as if he might reappear any moment, time punctuated only by the ticking of her clock, the beat of her heart. Her mind, however, remains unmoved, stuck on words and reasons. Why had he come here? She closes her eyes, slumps in her seat, and at last takes a deep breath. Decides, if she’s to get through the day, his secrets are for him to keep—if he’s truly in need of a friend, she doesn’t doubt Naruto’s willingness to step up. Like always, those two should be perfectly capable of figuring things out without her.

But, as the day progresses, she’s forced to accept his secrets are hard to ignore, plaguing her mind every chance they get. She’s distracted at work, decides after several hours of idle thoughts and quick apologies it’s probably best if she takes the day off. She doesn’t yet know what to do, aware half her friends are at work, and the other half she doesn’t want to see—namely Naruto and Hinata. It’s for this reason she ends up back at the training grounds, the wreckage she’d left almost a week prior already undone. She mindlessly strolls the area, finds herself stopping at the familiar logs, remembers their first test from Kakashi—those days seem impossibly long ago, as if from another lifetime. She feels she no longer knows the long-haired girl, offering Naruto her lunch only to please Sasuke.

She allows herself to drop down against one of them, closes her eyes to the sun, its heat kissing her skin, a soft breeze trailing her hair. It smells of summer, like it did back then—like it did once Sasuke left. And now? Is she next to go? Leave behind these childhood memories stored in scenery; in the colour of grass and rushing of water. In a way, none of this feels hers to begin with, instead belongs to a younger self who had yet to experience life. Like shed skin, she doesn’t mind moving on, anew. She’s a child still in more ways than one, has yet so much to learn, feel, finally become the woman hiding between thoughts and words. It’s she who forces her to stay put once she senses him, convinces her of the inevitability of their reunion—she might as well get it over with.

Opening her eyes, she watches as Naruto halts before her, tall form draping her in shadows. He doesn’t meet her gaze right away, first looks at the poles behind her, expression thoughtful. “Truce?” he offers then, shifting his weight, hands behind his back.

She releases a sigh, allows her head to fall back against the wood, closes her eyes. They would have to talk sooner or later, she tells herself again, regardless of how much she dreads it. “Fine.” The word passes her lips like air, holds within it her many doubts, insecurities; all for him to scrutinise.

He sits down next to her, mindful of the space between them, long legs aligned with hers. The sun hits her again, warms her from the inside out. “I figured I’d find you here. A nurse said you’d left early,” he starts, explaining his sudden appearance, proving her belief of inevitability. She doesn’t reply, notices the way he fumbles with his sleeves, then continues, obviously eager to break their silence: “Sasuke stopped by my office.”

“Let’s not talk about him.” She clenches her jaw, hands in her lap tightening their grip on each other.

“Sakura...” Naruto tries before falling silent again, and she assumes he doesn’t even know where to begin—she wouldn’t either. After a while he sighs, slumps against his pole. “I’m sorry.” His tone is much softer, hitting her harder than his previous nonchalance. “I guess I had this picture in my head of how things were supposed to work out—for all of us.” She bites her tongue, hands balled to fists where they rest, an uncomfortable tightness spreading through her. “I just want everyone to be happy, and...” he pauses, takes a moment, and she can feel he’s turned his head to look at her, “I’ll really, really miss you.” The tightness intensifies, wraps around her throat, chest, stomach, chokes her out and leaves her sick. “You’re my best friend. You know that—I’ll always love you.”

She blinks her eyes open, swallows words of protest, instead trails a finger through the dirt, watches it shift beneath her touch. If only things didn’t have to be so complicated, if only they could have remained, just as they were back then. He’s like family to her; a brother she’s never had. “I love you too,” she finally admits, means the words with all her heart, “and of course I’ll also miss you, I-“ She feels her voice crack, the hurt of it all exhumed by his confessions—she never wanted to be a disappointment to anyone.

Softly, he takes her hand, gently intertwines their fingers. “It’s okay,” he smiles reassuringly, “I know.” She nods, stares at their joined limbs, can’t believe how much they’ve both changed. “I’m just a little thick-headed, I’m told,” he chuckles, and she can’t help but join in, feels the laughter bubble in her chest.

“You _are_ a knucklehead, true,” she smiles, meeting his gaze.

He returns the expression, watches her for a beat, eyes roaming her features, then says: “Gaara’s a lucky man.” She feels her cheeks warm, averts her eyes and directs them at her lap. “I’m happy for the both of you.”

“Thank you.” She’s glad, more even than she’d expected, Naruto’s approval an instant relief.

He turns his gaze to the training grounds ahead, sounds amused when he says: “I’ll admit the both of you took me by surprise, unlike Hinata. She always knows everything, it’s crazy.” It surprises her, despite always having known the shy girl to be especially perceptive. “I guess I didn’t want to believe it...”

She bites the inside of her cheek, thinks back on that evening.

“You know what Gaara told her? He’s admired you since the Chuunin exams.”

She smiles to herself, thinks it typical of him to easily admit such things. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you guys,” she says, her mind still processing all he’s just told her.“I’ve been a horrible friend.” Gaara had admired her, yet—somehow—she had never stopped to notice him in return. There’d been several times they’d interacted, once when she’d healed him during battle. She hadn’t paid too much attention, mind caught up on the mission at hand, too focused on the potential dangers to wonder about the observant eyes she’d felt upon her.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She bites her lip, nods, enjoys the brief silence that follows. The wind rustles their hair, creates a surrounding susurrus, leaves and branches dancing. She had met Gaara’s eye at some point, if briefly, yet has no idea what she’d thought all those years ago. Did he think her pretty then, too?

“I guess you must be particularly excited for the Chuunin exams this year.”

She stores her thoughts away for later, turns to her friend instead. “Hush, you,” she chides, awarding him a playful shove, met with amused laughter—it’s like old times, a natural habit for them to settle into. Moments later, she rests her head against his shoulder, cherishes their familiarity, and sits with him until sunset calls each of them home.

* * *

He’d admired her. And she? She hadn’t spared him a second glance, not even when his life had been on the line. She’d been so involved with Chiyo, she hadn’t even stopped to consider... Gaara would have been gone without her sacrifice. He would have been gone. Gaara had died. And she hadn’t even fully realised it. There would have been no wedding dance, no small gifts or a room filled with plants. Had Chiyo not been there, Sakura would have never gotten the chance to fall in love with him. She doesn’t know why none of it occurred to her before, and her feelings of gratitude towards the elder only increase with the realisation.

She’s aware it’s a silly thing to feel guilty about—it’s not as if there’s anything to be done about the past—yet, once home, she still finds herself dialling the numbers she now knows by heart.

“Hello?”

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

He remains silent for a beat, then, with a hint of confusion, says: “I’m glad you’re alive too,” pauses, and she hears him shift in his chair, “are you okay?”

“Yes! Absolutely. I just thought you should know.” She bites her lip, twists the cord around her finger. “I had a talk with Naruto today. He apologised for some things he said.”

“He upset you?”

“Yes, but we managed to sort it out.” She pauses, hesitates to share what else has been bothering her—she doesn’t want to worry him—but decides she best be upfront. “Sasuke also stopped by... Did he seem odd when he left?”

Gaara remains silent for a beat, and she holds her breath as she waits. “I don’t know him too well to be honest, it’d be hard for me to judge. He did appear stressed, but that could have been related to his mission too. There were some casualties that day—you actually met them.”

It’s not the kind of news she’d expected, her relief at his calm answer short-lived. Met them? She tries her best to remember, recalls when she’d bumped into him with Sasuke. “That’s awful! What happened?”

“It’s the rebels.”

She hasn’t forgotten all Sasuke’s told her, the ruthlessness he ascribed them. They’d obviously failed to capture them, even with his help, and now he’d returned home; leaving the rebels spared. “Do you have any idea what they want?”

She can hear him sigh, notes how tired he sounds. “It’s a group of people against the Kazekage clan, wanting to change the hereditary nature of the role.”

“So... they want get rid of you?”

“That would be one way to accomplish their goal, though they’d have to take out my siblings as well.”

“That’s terrifying.” He wouldn’t die, right? It’d already happened once, she thinks to herself, who’s to say it wouldn’t again?

“Don’t worry about it. They’re a small group and their numbers have been dwindling.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Of course,” she can hear him smile. “I plan to stay alive for a while.”

“Good,” she nods to herself, sends a stern scowl into the air, “because I’d refuse to come to your funeral.” She couldn’t lose him, not now. She still has so much she wishes to tell him, questions she wants answered, experiences she wants lived.

“Is that so?”

“I’d be too busy tracking down your ghost for a good reproval.” In fact, it’s as if they’ve only just gotten to know each other, and there’s still too much to be shared.

He stays silent for a beat. “If I were a ghost I’d follow you around, no need to track me.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, feels a smirk curl her lips. “Are you saying you’d spy on me?”

“Just observing.”

She hums, corrects: “Peeping?”

“Semantics.”

She laughs, rolls her eyes. “Alright, Lord Kazekage. We’ll have to settle this matter in three weeks, agree on a haunting schedule since I can’t have you following me all day.”

“I prefer night anyway,” he admits, “you’re pretty when you sleep.”

“Is it because I’m silent then?”

He laughs, the sound uniquely harmonious. “Hardly.”

She feels her cheeks burn, wonders at the accuracy of such a statement, then quickly changes the subject. “I should go, actually, I’m supposed to meet Ino later.” She fumbles with her necklace, stares down at the small pendant. “I’ll call again tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright,” he concedes, “have fun.”

She grins, offers him a final: “Hardly.”

* * *

Summer’s coming to an end, the first chill of autumn brushing her skin, raising goosebumps. In many places she can already see the leaves changing, dots of orange and yellow reminding her of her former teammate, and though pleasant, neither of them as exciting as the occasional red. It’s the one thing she’ll truly miss about Konoha; the changing of the seasons, the gentle shift of time recorded in nature. Weeks pass smoothly, uninterrupted by worries or disorder. Though Sasuke stays, he doesn’t make another effort with her—she’s almost capable of forgetting him, were it not for the occasional glance or mention. During the final week, Ino helps her set up her surprise, transforming her apartment into a different place entirely. They spend that night at the blonde’s house, Sakura keeping her company while Sai’s on a mission. On a whim, they’ve agreed to invite Hinata as well; Sakura still feels bad for avoiding the Hyuuga.

It’s a bit stilted at first, the shy girl needing some time to feel at ease, not having been around the two for a while. She arrives a little after Sakura, smiles sweetly as they invite her in. They fuss over her right away, relieving her of her bag and offering something to drink. Though she isn’t too far along her pregnancy, the other girls still feel the need to coddle her—which she assures them isn’t necessary at all.

“Nonsense!” Ino objects, offering her a seat at the table. “You’re to be a mother, you’ll need all the pampering you can get.”

“Ino’s right,” Sakura adds, “you’ll be plenty exhausted soon enough, for now the least we can do is spoil you a bit.”

“Yeah, especially considering Naruto’s genes are in the mix!” Ino grins while winking.

The girl splutters, blushes, folds her hands in her lap, thumbs twirling distractedly.

Sakura chuckles. “Don’t mind her,” she says, taking the seat next to Hinata, sticks out her tongue at the blonde, “Ino-pig tends to forget she’s equally obnoxious.”

“Watch it, forehead,” Ino threatens, swinging a ladle in her direction, “don’t think we’re letting you off easy.”

She glares, slaps the utensil aside. “I wasn’t aware this was to be another interrogation.”

“You know it always is with me,” the blonde smirks, sitting down opposite of her, already lifting the lids off the meals between them, revealing several fancy dishes.

“Oh, Ino,” Hinata gasps, taking in the variety of food, “you really shouldn’t have-“

“Now, now, what did we tell you? Enjoy yourself! We have plenty to celebrate,” she says, already starting on filling plates.

“How have you been?” Sakura asks as Ino busies herself. “Are you enjoying pregnancy?”

Hinata smiles, accepts the food she’s handed. “It’s been fine so far, I haven’t reached the difficult stages yet, and I haven’t suffered any morning sickness either.”

“Ugh,” Ino groans, offering Sakura a plate as well, “apparently I made my mom sick for 9 months straight. Literally couldn’t stomach anything besides rice and chicken skewers.”

Sakura suppresses a snort. “Already giving your mom a hard time before being born, huh?”

Ino chuckles, an amused smirk lingering. “I had to prepare her for what was to come.”

“You’re not that bad, Ino,” Hinata quickly attests, obviously well-intentioned.

“Please,” the blonde snorts, “teenage me was something else.”

Sakura frowns, thinks of her own childhood as she takes a bite, then muses: “I’m not sure I’d ever be able to deal with a teenager.”

“You’ll be ready when the time comes,” Hinata offers, sending her a reassuring look. “I’m sure you’d be an excellent mother.”

Sakura smiles warmly, feels the words’ effect on her confidence. “You really are too kind,” she says, pausing as she chews her lip, eyes darting to her hands as they fumble with her chopsticks. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for avoiding you,” she meets Hinata’s pale gaze, “I know I’ve been terribly distant.”

She smiles, lays a hand on Sakura’s arm. “Don’t be,” she tilts her head, sincerity colouring her expression, “I’m very happy for you. Gaara respects you a great deal.”

“It’d be hard not to with a fine ass like hers.”

“Ino!” Sakura chides, to which the blonde snickers. She crosses her arms, glowers at her friend for the interruption.

“Will you be moving to Suna then?” Hinata asks, and though she does so without a hint of judgment, Sakura still hesitates.

“I- well, it depends, you know, if we’re actually serious- it’s all still very early.”

Ino ‘tsks’ her, shaking her head. “When he sees your apartment he’ll marry you on the spot—mark my words.”

Hinata sends a curious glance between them, then continues: “I’m glad the both of you found each other—being Kazekage must be draining, especially by yourself. Watching Naruto, I know how much it takes.”

Sakura feels another smile curve her lips. “You’re right; he does work very hard.”

“As do you,” Hinata adds.

She falters, shrugs. “I suppose.”

“Sakura please,” Ino groans through a mouthful of food, “you’re the biggest workaholic at this table.”

She recoils at the accusation, a guilty frown marring her brow. “I’ve been slacking off as of recent.”

“As you damn well should, you deserve a break.”

She rubs her temple, releases a sigh, knows Ino is absolutely right despite her protests—still, it’s not easy to cut herself some slack, no matter how well deserved. In her mind, she’ll always have to work twice as hard as anyone else, just to keep up.

“I am glad you and Naruto were able to talk things through,” Hinata says. “I’m sure it must have weighed on you.”

“Yes,” she smiles, “it’s been a great relief.”

Ino glances between the two. “What’d he do?”

Sakura hesitates, lowers her gaze to her plate as she prods her food. “He wasn’t too happy about me leaving...” she pauses, swallows nervously, meets Ino’s gaze, “and he also thought I was leading Gaara on—that I still liked Sasuke.”

“Ridiculous!”

“It’s my own fault. I did falsely confess to love him, once, hoping he’d stop chasing after Sasuke.”

The blonde’s frown deepens, turns incredulous as she listens on. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I took advantage of his feelings,” Sakura argues in his defence.

“That doesn’t mean you’d do the same to Gaara.”

“It’s not that far a stretch—and I’ve always said I wanted Sasuke.”

Ino releases a groan, levels her with a serious look. “Sakura, please, stop making excuses.

“Ino’s right. Naruto shouldn’t have questioned your sincerity,” Hinata adds, “it’s a bad habit of his to speak before he thinks.”

“It’s none of his business anyway.”

Sakura straightens her back, searches for something else to say. “He just wanted to protect his friends,” she finally tries.

Ino shakes her head. “There are better ways—and you’re entirely justified to tell him.”

She deflates, wearily lowers her gaze. “I feel like I’ve been telling so much to so many people. I’m a little spent, especially after Sasuke.”

It’s then Ino narrows her eyes. “He hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”

Sakura falters, chews her lip, returns her gaze to her chopsticks. “He came by my apartment a few weeks ago…” she starts, frowns as she watches the utensils push her food around. “He said there was something he wanted to tell me, but he never did. He just went and left.” She looks up, eyes darting between her friends, sees Hinata’s frown, and for the briefest second notices something flash across her features, barely noticeable. It has her wondering wether she might know more, and she can’t resist asking. “Hinata... did he tell you?”

She recoils, guiltily averts her eyes. “No- no, it’s...” she hesitates, shifts in her seat, “it’s complicated.”

Sakura leans closer, tips her head curiously. “How so?”

Hinata swallows, meets her eye then. “I figured it out myself, but it’s not my place to tell. It’ll be obvious—once you understand, I mean.”

It’s Sakura’s turn to frown, and she wonders if she should have been able to tell, too—she’s the one who’s chased after him, thought she loved him, yet _she_ doesn’t know.

“Whatever’s bothering him, he’ll have to find someone else to string along and be his baby builder.”

“Ino!” Sakura grimaces.

The blonde clicks her tongue, raises a berating finger. “Don’t act coy. Besides, tomorrow is your chance to seal the deal Forehead.” She winks, makes an obscene gesture which has Sakura pale.

“I told you, I-“

“Hinata, you’ll have to tell me everything, report back every detail. I want to know this man’s first reaction, the look in his eyes, his greeting words!”

“There are limits,” Sakura grumbles, crossing her arms.

“Of course not, I’m a part of your relationship now and you best enjoy it.”

“I’m thrilled,” she deadpans, sends the blonde a pointed glare, finds it eagerly returned, followed by a shared burst of laughter.

* * *

It’s a chilly day, and Sakura wonders how well Gaara does in the cold; is he even accustomed to a cooler climate? What if he runs sick? Should she make sure to heat her apartment? Add blankets? She finds herself going back and forth, worrying wether everything’s taken care of; wether he’ll be fine staying with her. Her apartment isn’t as large as his own home, and she hopes he doesn’t mind the change in luxury—he’s never said anything of it in the past, but that could have been politeness. She earns several reprimands from Ino, who repeatedly tells her to stop frowning as she helps with her make-up. Sakura sighs, allows her fingers to fumble with the hem of her dress; a green one this time, and she hopes he likes it.

“There, all done,” Ino says, leaning back to admire her handiwork.

Sakura opens her eyes, studies herself in the mirror. The make-up’s subtle, yet she feels it makes all the difference—as she would expect from Ino. “Thank you,” she smiles, “I love it.”

“Anything for you,” the blonde says, flashing her a grin. “Now go, before you guys are late.”

Sakura nods, squeezes the blonde’s hand a final time, then follows Hinata to the door. They say their goodbyes, hug each other, offer their thanks, and then they’re out. They head for Sakura’s apartment first, quickly drop off her things. Hinata gets a glimpse of what’s inside, and finally understands Ino’s remarks the night before. She shares her amazement with Sakura, compliments her for her efforts, assures they’ll be well worth it. It’s the kind of boost Sakura needs, and she happily receives the Hyuuga’s enthusiasm; though she doesn’t show it, she’s nervous just thinking of seeing Gaara again. It’s been a month, and—despite their frequent phone calls—she still finds doubt creeping into her mind, digging its roots wherever it senses hesitation.

Their next stop is Naruto’s office, where they’re to meet the others. Shikamaru’s already there when they arrive, standing in front of Naruto’s desk, the two of them caught in conversation. They turn at the sound of Hinata’s gentle knocks, announcing their presence. The blond beams at the sight of them, rises from his seat to embrace his wife, then greets Sakura. Shikamaru, on the other hand, is as reserved as ever, awards them a nod of his head and a smile. They spend some time catching up, making small-talk. It’s all pleasant enough, almost helps Sakura forget her nerves. She fumbles with the long sleeves of her dress, pulls them across her knuckles and back again—all to help take her mind off her imminent reunion.

It’s Shikamaru who makes an effort to soothe her, tells her all he’s heard from Temari; mostly how much the blonde enjoyed Sakura’s company, and she feels her appreciation for the eldest sibling renewed. It takes her mind off her worries, all the way to the village gates. They have to wait there for a while, and she’s unable to keep her eyes off the horizon, tries her best to spot the unmistakable red she’s grown so fond of. Minutes feel endless, creep by agonisingly slow. She shifts her weight every few seconds, rubs her arms, repeatedly fusses over her hair. It’s almost unreal when she senses it; a familiar chakra signature drawing closer. She squints her eyes, tries to peer beyond the first line of trees. Finally they emerge, their familiar figures unmistakable. She feels her throat run dry, pulse quickening, breath caught in her chest—he’s here.

She can’t help herself, unable to keep still as she watches him approach. At the sight of him, she realises just how badly he’s been missed by her, how welcome his presence proves. She’s closed the distance and pressed against him in the blink of an eye, feels him stiffen in surprise, her arms wrapped around his neck as she buries her face into his scarf, relieved to see he’s come prepared. Reluctantly, he relaxes, gently returns her hold, arms snaking across her back. It’s warm, soft, and most importantly; familiar. She breathes a deep sigh, feels a relieved frown twist her brow, notes the subtle brush of his thumb on her shoulder, and welcomes the delighted shiver running down her back.

She doesn’t know what to say, has no idea how she’s supposed to convey how happy she is to see him again. Her mind’s a jumbled mess, unable to conjure appropriate words or phrases. He too appears uncertain, doesn’t speak as he holds her, the beat of his heart perceptible between their bodies. They remain like that for a moment, until finally—once her initial anxiety has worn off—she moves to break the silence.

“As much as I enjoy listening to your voice, this is much better,” she says, tightening her grip for good measure, finding she likes the way his body fits against her own.

“Yes,” he agrees, the sound of it caressing peculiar places.

She swallows, already gathers the courage to step back, practices her smile in the safety of his scarf—her heart thunders on, spreads excitementthrough her veins, fills her up on nerves only he arouses. Though she’s stopped to look at their picture a thousand times, she’s long known it’s only a poor imitation—a flattened afterthought of reality—and once she’s brave enough to loosen her hold, she’s reminded of that very fact. Her breath doesn’t leave his shoulder, hangs caught in the air there, hands not quite able to break contact either once her feet start to move. A bashful colour dusts his cheeks, assures her he’s equally affected, eyes lowered after briefly meeting hers. For a moment, she wonders if she’s offended him with her brazen actions, but the fear is quickly vanquished, soon realising it’s something else entirely.

“Thank you for meeting us here,” he says, clearing his throat, gaze slowly rising to meet hers, its warmth enough to forget about the autumn chill.

Like her, he’s unsure, dare she say even shy, and it’s an unexpected comfort. “Of course!” She offers a grin, feels her reservations melt away, hand dropping down his arm to hold his. “I wanted to see you as soon as possible.”

He blinks, smiles as the tension dissipates from his form, and intertwines their fingers. “And I you.” The sincerity of it nearly overwhelms her, seizes her breath as well as her voice—what is she even to say in the face of such unveiled affection? He somehow saves her, starts towards the others, leads her along with an unwavering smile. “My siblings, too, couldn’t wait,” he continues, a shine of amusement in his gaze, “of which I’ve been reminded liberally.”

She spots them from the corner of her eye, but can’t bring herself to turn from him, much too caught up in thinking how well he looks. She’s relieved to find no trace of his previous gauntness, the hollows of his cheeks no longer displaying the tell-tale shadows of famine. There’s a healthy colour decorating his skin, unrelated to the lingering flush caused by her lack of restraint. She bites her lip, feels a grin spread across them. “I’m flattered I’ve been so dearly missed.”

His smile widens, and he’s about to speak again when Kankuro interrupts. “Oy, slowpokes! I’m starving.”

Temari slaps his arm, sends him a berating scowl. “Don’t be rude, we just got here.”

“I know, which is exactly my point.”

Gaara ignores his brother, turns to Naruto and Hinata instead, offering them a proper greeting. They shake hands, and Sakura happily watches, still holding on to him.

“Let’s have dinner together,” Naruto suggests, glancing to his wife, “regain some energy after such a long journey.”

They all agree, though Sakura thinks she should have known, should have at least said something sooner. It’s once they arrive at Ichiraku’s when she realises her mistake, because where else would Naruto take them? Not in the mood to make a fuss, she grumpily complies, picking a stool for herself. Another stool is added to fit their large group, and once everyone’s seated it becomes apparent how narrowly they fit. She’s packed between Naruto and Gaara, awkwardly tries to scoot closer to the latter in an attempt to avoid the first’s animated arms.

“I’m actually so excited for these exams,” he exclaims, elbow bumping into her again. “There’s so much we can do to help these kids, set the right examples for the generations to come.” He glances to Hinata when he says this, a warm smile alighting her features. “I mean, I can hardly believe how young we were back then!”

“You were brats,” Kankuro calls from Gaara’s other side, eliciting an amused chuckle from his sister.

“I felt so mature back then,” Sakura grimaces, “as if I were all grown up.” She’s not too proud of the girl she used to be, even though she knows she shouldn’t be too critical; it’s hard not to regret her short-sightedness.

“Most twelve year olds do,” Temari assures her.

“I didn’t,” Shikamaru adds in a deadpan, earning a knowing look from his fiancée.

“I don’t know, I was pretty mature for my age!” Naruto grins, oblivious to the disagreeing frowns surrounding him.

Sakura snorts in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He hesitates, visibly searches for words, then turns to the redhead at her side. “I did manage to get through to Gaara.”

“He’s right.” Gaara nods, sounds much too sincere in his agreement.

Sakura looks between them, frowns. “You’re giving him way too much credit for simply beating you up.”

Kankuro snickers at the words, bends forward to look Naruto in the eye. “Yeah, didn’t you win a match by farting?”

“Keyword: win,” the blond enunciates, pointing his chopsticks in Kankuro’s direction. “Either way, I’m glad we’re all friends now—you know, instead of trying to kill each other.”

“Speak for yourself, there’s still plenty attempts made against me,” Shikamaru sighs, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re just a crybaby,” Temari berates, flashing him a smirk.

Sakura watches the interaction with a smile of her own, the heat of her ramen warming her face, bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks. Before she knows it, her eyes find Gaara again, curiously travel his profile. He appears to sense her studying him, gaze shooting up to meet hers. The light of Ichiraku’s draws a sharp silhouette, illuminaties each unruly strand of red, catches on dark lashes. She chews her lip, uses her hand to support her chin, elbow propped on the bar.

“You must have thought me quite the nuisance, way back then,” she says without thinking, instantly regretting the words.

He watches her a moment, appears thoughtful, when a sudden flicker of amusement alights his eyes. “You’re asking the guy who tried to kill nearly everyone at this bar. I could only wish to be considered a mere nuisance.”

Laughter escapes her, leaves a grin to linger on her lips. “Alright, no need to brag.”

He shakes his head, the first hints of a smile dawning. “Nothing to brag, I clearly failed.”

She raises a brow, bumps his shoulder. “And aren’t you glad you did?”

“I’m happy,” he corrects. “Otherwise I would have been quite lonely, sitting here.”

She chuckles, surveys him with scepticism. “Assuming you’d go here of your own free will.”

“Of course!” Naruto bursts suddenly, joining the exchange. “Gaara knows how to appreciate good ramen.”

Sakura is about to protest the claim when Gaara speaks: “I do like it.” She’s taken by surprise, feels a newfound appreciation for the dish.

“See, he’s a man of fine tastes.”

She narrows her eyes, prods further to ensure his sincerity. “You’re not saying that to please Naruto, are you?”

He grins now, exposing white teeth she marvels at, surprised to find herself affected by such ordinary things. “If I wanted to please him I wouldn’t have pursued you.”

She’s able to compose herself enough to snort, sporting a grin of her own. “I’m fairly certain I’m the one who did the pursuing.”

Naruto leans forward, sends a pout in Gaara’s direction. “Don’t think I’m thrilled about you taking Sakura-chan away—happy as I may be for the both of you.”

The redhead looks to Sakura, who feels herself enliven under his attention. “It’s impossible to take someone who freely chooses to go.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Naruto waves off the words, stubbornly crosses his arms, half-jokingly says: “Friends or not, I won’t hesitate to beat some more sense into you if you ever hurt her.”

“Naruto,” Hinata reprimands, and Sakura is about to echo her when Gaara speaks again, pointedly meeting her gaze.

“I might deserve it.” He raises a brow, as if to challenge her, and she gladly bites.

“Please,” Sakura narrows her eyes at him, “even though you most certainly wouldn’t deserve it, I’m still perfectly capable of beating sense into you myself—no need to outsource a taken position.” She then turns to Naruto. “And I definitely don’t need anyone protecting my feelings.” It’s much too late for that, she reckons, and she’s at least able to appreciate the irony. He reddens, ducks his head at her reprimands, grumbles into his bowl of ramen. A pleased smirk works itself onto her lips, her heart a little lighter. Returning her gaze to Gaara, she’s surprised to find him smiling, eyes crinkling with mirth—would he mind if she kissed him right then and there?

“It’s settled then,” he says, “we’re all responsible adults who can handle their own troubles.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbles Kankuro, earning several laughs.

Sakura, however, pays him little mind, instead keeps her gaze focused on the redhead at her side—understands perfectly why, digests his words in the safety of her person, and can’t stop herself pecking his cheek, the warmth of his skin, however briefly, a delicious flavour on her lips. It takes him by obvious surprise, but despite that keeps his composure, his smile widening in response.

She mouths a quick ‘thank you’, allows herself to lean into him, resting her head against his cheek. The conversation continues in the background, the distinct smell of sunset mingling with the varied aromas of their meals. The day is slowly coming to a close, twilight drawing near without delay—she wishes, in her own secret thoughts, for the sun to dip quicker; mark their departure and lead her back into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HeeellllooooOoO! It’s been a while. To be honest I was experiencing a bit of a block, so instead of writing I did a lot of reading, you know, find some inspiration. It worked! And I feel like I’m finally back into the flow of things. This was going to be a hard chapter either way, since not much happens except for what’s necessary to move things forward—a bit boring perhaps. More exciting things are coming though! I want to thank you all so much for the many comments!!! I loved reading them so much and I’ll try to reply to most of them—I usually don’t allow myself until I finish another chapter. I do truly feel we’re reaching a climax here (hehheueuehjai not like that thooo), which is good because I love me a finished story. Lemmme know what you think! Many love, stay safe.
> 
> (Also @timetodrawsakuras2k21 made the best art ever give it the love it deserves i dare you https://timetodrawsakuras2k21.tumblr.com/post/640339313642684416/hirvitank-updated-creosote-and-i-wanted-to-do-a )


End file.
